


Here Where There's Everything That's Matter (and matters)

by HeavenSentGohansRage



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, BAMF!Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Demigod Stiles Stilinski, Depressed Stiles, Electric shocks, Foster Father Sheriff Stilinski, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Heracles!Stiles, Hercules!Stiles, M/M, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Human Stiles, Pack Bonding, Past Child Abuse, SERIOUSLY SLOW BURN AS FUCK, Sexual Harassment, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles-centric, Swearing, The Author Regrets Everything, Underage Kissing, Zeus makes everything incest, mentions of past sexual abuse, stiles is something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 312,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenSentGohansRage/pseuds/HeavenSentGohansRage
Summary: Heracles was just a nickname his Mother had given him, with no special meaning behind it. Stiles seriously had no idea what Derek had to be so obsessive about.And when his life suddenly forced on him tropes of a classic heroic storyline, right in the middle of two supernatural battlefronts, the once nothing but an average sidekick must prove himself to be a great hero - perhaps even the greatest of them all - in order to save every one of the curse of his glorious strength.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO LITERALLY ~~THREE~~ FOUR FUCKING YEARS TO FINISH THIS SHIT. UGH. I have unfinished fanfics that are older than this, of course, but I wasn't constantly busy with them (both through research and in my thoughts) as this.
> 
> So here some points that I want to mention:
> 
> • Heracles (read as "Heraklis") is the original Greek name, and the one I'm going to use instead of the more popular "Hercules", which is how the character called in his Roman version.
> 
> • The story is basically a mashup between the original Greek legend and the show (and is not based at all on the Disney film, but do pay attention to the scenes with Coach Finstock :P) . Everything up to the end of season 2 is the same, with additional scenes that don't affect canon (starting from Magic Bullet here on the first chapter), and from there on the changed backstories of the characters will affect everything that happens afterwards. In other words, it's not a "the legend repeats itself" kind of au: in that universe, the known myth is the same, except there was no legend of mentions of Heracles at all.
> 
> • At the end of any chapter, there will be a link to a post on my Tumblr blog where I'll explain more about the chapter and add trivia (although, of course, you can always enter just to say hi ^^ ).
> 
> • I'm not a native English speaker, if it wasn't already showing ^^" I'm sorry in advance for any mistake as I don't have a beta, and I'll happily accept any criticism!
> 
> So I hope you'll enjoy, and thank you so much for giving it a shot! :D

It was _so_ not fair, was all Stiles could think to himself.

There he was, sharing the front seats of his Jeep for what seemed as the next few hours with Derek _fucking_ Hale- an attraction he could not deny its existence anymore, not even while being obsessive as hell over Lydia. It could be excusable, if only he was not a guy who made Stiles recall time and time again why he wanted to go to sleep while hugging a gun instead of his favourite pillow these days. There were not a lot of people who Stiles was afraid of the possibility of them using their power on him, whatever kind it was- and yet they somehow happened to be his type.

Scott, his so wonderful of a friend, was supposed to be searching at that time for a bullet in Allison's house which would heal the injured Derek- though could as easily spend those hours with Allison herself, doing pretty much whatever they felt like.

And no, it did not matter that Stiles had been the one, earlier that day at the school, to encourage Scott to do those very things with her instead of studying. That had happened _before_ they had gotten into this situation, and while Scott was taking the less miserable part of the mission- Stiles, on the other hand, would have had much more difficult time to ignore all those needs which would probably storm inside of him at that moment if it was not for, well… Derek _fucking_ Hale. If there was something you could possibly want more than making the hell out with him, it was to not let him get pissed on you.

And as though Stiles had not had enough reasons to be anguished- the thought of teasing him could only make Stiles to be impossibly turned on even more.

Okay, he seriously needed to get used to this whole Werewolves-and-their-ability-to-sense-almost-everything thing as soon as possible, because it took all that was left of his luck to be able to shush away thoughts which could make unpleasant reactions. Even though the guy's whole presence promised a lot of misery for his surrounding, constantly exuding the fear he would tear into you – or specifically your throat, as he had threatened him just about half an hour prior – Stiles still found himself dealing with thinking about how he wanted to tear into Derek in a little different way.

Fortunately for him, Derek was slowly dying at that time, which meant not only he probably - hopefully – just barely noticed any embarrassing fact being revealed through Stiles' scent, but there was also the fact Stiles had never found dying people as a personal kink. So the more Derek was, well, _dying-_ Stiles believed he would somehow pass that situation with a stable mind and unbroken bones.

Unless the boredom would eventually break him, that is.

And so, just as he managed to lose himself in other thoughts, his companion for dryness eventually identified with his distress, as he finally came out with a topic, ignoring his own no-talking-until-Scott-arrives-with-the-bullet rule.

"So what are you, exactly?" Derek's voice did not hide his vulnerable state at all, although it was still very clear there was nothing which could overcome his unforgiven assertiveness- no matter how close he was to ruin Stiles' sexy Jeep as he was making it his deathbed.

Stiles – who was staring for a while now through the front window – almost found a way to roll out of a car with closed doors as he was startled out of his thoughts (the fact that plastic dinosaurs are made from oil which is made from fossils of real dinosaurs, in case you wondered, along with some other existential thoughts).

"Dude, have you ever considered to at least clear your throat or something to alert before you speak? It's one thing that it comes out of nowhere, but this tone is – "

" – Answer my question," Derek's eyelids almost shut his eyes completely, but even that could not hide their piercing gaze. "What are you?"

Stiles frowned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, considering how to react, and eventually snorted.

"What do you mean _what_ am I? I'm Stiles Stilinski- putting people off with my charm by day and warming the bench on lacrosse games by night. Although recently it's really more about me being Scott's watch-puppy or his sidekick, at best. Damn it, I never wanted to use my super-ability because I thought there's no chance I'd ever become a hero, so I just took the role of the guy who finds clues and how to get out of trouble – "

" – What power do you have?" Derek cut Stiles off as he got carried away as usual.

Stiles froze for a moment. How had such a critical piece of information slipped away from him that easily? Normally the fear he would be exposed as non-human was even stronger than his natural tendency to speak before thinking about the impact of what he was about to say first. . It turned out that _this_ fact Derek was a Werewolf seeped into his mind quicker than he thought it would take, unlike the developed sense of smell.

"Um," he swallowed. "Yeah, that. Well – "

" – I can see your halo," Derek continued, not giving him time to search for a way to retract. "You're not a creature like me, but definitely not human, or at least not fully. You have something in your scent I have never smelled before, in addition to your natural one – "

" – Do you really look that much into the scent of anyone you meet?" Stiles decided he probably imagined the note about his so-called halo, which he had probably mistakenly heard while Derek had been talking over him.

Derek's eyes opened up just a little bit more-  glaring at him so hard that despise his pale, sweat-covered face. Stiles realized he needed Derek to conclusively die if he wanted to feel any kind of relief ever again in his life.

Stiles bumped his head backwards into the headboard. "Fine, okay, I got you wolf-boy," he sighed before he started. "The truth is that even me, the guy who is able to research about anything and uncover any hidden, forgotten information- failed at finding out what I am. I just know it has something to do with my Mum, maybe even with my biological parent. I’ve never had a chance to ask her about it because I learned just how much something was wrong with me only after she passed away, and I had such an outburst that…"

He swallowed a shaky breath that almost escaped out of his mouth, looking to the side then down to his knees, not making any eye contact with Derek whatsoever. He did not feel like crying, but talking about it brought memories that could easily make him having a yet another panic attack about the incident, which the memory of it drew his anxiety more than anything.

He was also scared that Derek, who made him insecure just by looking at him even while talking about less private and intimate subject, would lead him into breakdown.

Only Derek did not spur him, but gave him time to calm himself down and to pull himself altogether instead- something Stiles found quite surprising, considering he thought during this short time he had managed to know Derek enough to predict he would never control his impatience, even during situations as this.

At any rate, it was clearly very rare, and Stiles could never expect to receive a similar attitude ever again from the king of grumpiness himself- though he still appreciated it somewhere deep inside of him.

His Mother's death was a subject he had always found difficult to talk about, but as his concentration was directed on Derek's reaction – or more correctly his lack of reaction – it distracted him enough in order to be able to continue.

"I have this... super-strength thing, as in lifting heavy things and hit hard and stuff. I could be much stronger if I trained, pretty much as strong as you, come to think of it. Whoa, I could so take you down-" He cut himself off once he noticed Derek's breathes getting sharper and returned back to the main issue. "So, in short- I'm not a shape shifter like you, but in the other hand I'm also not any dark creature like a Vampire or a Demon or whatever. You already know all of that, but that's exactly all I know myself. I wasn't ever exposed to some radioactive radiation or something else so I could have had any clue to put myself in the right direction. And I never tried to learn about other possible super abilities except an over-the-average strength, so I don't have a lot of details to do search for to begin with."

Derek stayed quiet, but when Stiles carefully checked on him, he noticed his darting eyes as he probably tried to compare all the information Stiles gave him with his own knowledge, and recognized the frustration of not being able to do so- a feel Stiles knew very well.

"One Saturday, when I was seven," Stiles began telling, "my Dad was lying under the car in order to fix something, and I held the flashlight for him. I knew that no matter how much I tried to light the right way he still couldn't see good enough, so I asked him why he didn't ask me to pick up the car for him. Before he said anything, I was already holding up the car above me. No idea how he explained this to neighbors," he sneakered.

He waited for Derek's reaction, but of course he did not bother to oil his rusty friendly-mode for him.

"He rushed me back into the house and told me to stay in my room. I could hear him and Mum fighting over it, but not good enough to understand what could make him so agitated all of a sudden. Eventually they took me to this doctor, who later turned out as Deaton, who's actually a vet, but still somehow knows quite a lot about all this supernatural stuff for some weird reason – "  

Derek released some kind of low breath which probably was meant to be a growl, but it was enough to make Stiles stop drifting away.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. So, once we got back home after he checked me, they did a talk with me where they basically explained that after what I did I now have very weak bones, so I’m not allowed to do any kind of sport anymore, or lifting even the lightest things. I knew they were bullshiting me, but for some reason it was very important to them, so I did as I was told until my Dad figured it would attract much less attention if I sit by the bench instead of avoiding sports at all cost."

"What you do know about your family?" Derek asked, and Stiles wondered if he just thought he heard a little hint of pure curiosity in his voice to simply learn about this new kind of creature he just ran into.

"Nothing, really, and it doesn't help I have never met anyone either. I was only told that my terrible real name was given to me in the memory of my Mother's Grandfather, who was Polish. Me and my Dad never asked and it looked like it was convenient for her.  Even the fact I’m not my Dad’s biological son was discovered to me only after her death, when I suddenly found myself in adoption processes with the one who was brave enough to not leave me behind, like my biological one probably did. I have even fewer clues about him, in case you wondered. My Mum wrote him as unknown in the birth certificate. So obviously I did my research thing, but no matter where I was looking for throughout any possible source of the Polish history and culture- I couldn't find anything. They have a nice mythology of mostly witches and witchcraft, but nothing I can relate to, unless some spell was put on me."

Derek was again lost in his thoughts when Stiles finished speaking, processing and digesting the recent details he had gotten from him. It annoyed Stiles, as he understood they were back again at the same spot they had been only few minutes ago, where they had done nothing but waiting to the anticipated call from Scott- so he just kept talking, even though Derek had already gotten all the information he needed in case he ever heard something that could lead to the answer for Stiles' true nature.

"Yeah, just stay quiet as I'm going nuts over here because you made me talk about the most maddening thing ever. And it's not like I can risk everything around me while training and testing the level of my power closely. Ugh, I can't help but think of how I could be the perfect hero: strong and doesn't need any sidekick to fend for himself. Even Batman wouldn't have got a shit on me!"

"What's your name?"

Stiles moved his head towards him at once as the question came  out of nowhere.

He huffed, opened his mouth to answer but just had to huffed again.

"Oh yeah, as If I'd tell you about one of my darkest secrets. This story about my super strength was one thing, just so you know I could have been in a position where _I_ was a threat."

"It can lead me to the answer."

"And how exactly is it supposed to help if you're about to die every minute now – in my precious Jeep, out if all places – and stink it in an eternal smell of _death_?"

"It will help you not making me drugging you down to death along with me."

"Wait- am I supposed to be threatened by getting dragged to hell by you and be stuck with you for eternity, or by the risk of simply dying?"

They just stared for each other for a while until Stiles understood he was better to hurry up or he would find on his own which option was the correct one.

"Okay, you win." With a roll of his eyes and irritable fingers tapping on the wheel, Stiles turned his face back to the front window- not capable to watch the excepted disdain reaction he would get from him, as though he had not been degraded enough. "Nice to meet- Mieczysław Alcaeüs Stilinski."

It had been years since the last time he heard this name being pronounced out loud, let alone the last time it came out of his _own_ mouth; he was not sure if it had ever been, with how weird It was to mention its existence.

And now he had to except the reaction for it from none other than Derek, who seemed to already be at a point no additional reason could had make him find Stiles more ridiculous than he thought of him to be- something Stiles was used to from others, only until now it had never not because of his name. The lack of experience with it left him dangerously vulnerable and unprepared for what was coming for him, now that it was exposed, as he had never built a wall to block his mentality from others' reactions for it.

That left him being more anxious than usual, hence why he physically jumped with the unpredictable way Derek chose to end the silence with: "Alcaeüs? Isn’t it a Greek name?"

Stiles' head did a sharp turn back towards Derek's annoyingly poker face. "Wh-What? What do you mean by _Greek_? Have you met a Greek person with that name before?" He tried to laugh, but was too shocked than doing anything but dumbly smile. "I can't believe there's someone else out there with enough bad luck to have such a stupid name."

"No, I’ve never heard that name before, but for some reason I'm still absolutely sure it's a Greek name. And if there's nothing in the Polish culture which can be related to you, then it's more logical you'll try to check the Greek mythology out."

Stiles sighed. "Look, it's not just that. I tried to search just about my ability, regardless anything to do with any culture, and I failed to find anything as well. Either someone delete any possible information from the recorded history which can even indirectly relate to what I am, or I'm just one of a kind."

Stiles actually liked that idea, but Derek just rolled his eyes at that; why of course you can never be consoled by a cool suggestion when you fail at figuring out something meaningful.  "There has to be an answer. Like I'm the way I am because I was born as a Werewolf, people can't just be born with an unusual mutation of strength that lets them pick up a car at the age of seven without breaking a sweat. There has to be something behind this."

"How would you know? The fact you have knowledge and experience with supernatural stuff doesn't mean – "

Most of the times Stiles would be glad to be cut off by someone, since he still worked on this tongue-brain contact thing, but when it was done by Derek, it was always expressed by being shoved into something; at this case, for example, it was the window’s turn.

"Oh, Gods! Why?" he whined, partly because of the pain, but also because the blow only luckily did not leave any seen damage to the Jeep. But his annoying companion to the vehicle just returned to the not-dead-yet-but-definitely-in-the-right-way-there mood, where he was staring at nothing and being quiet even more than his usual self.

Stiles was more than grateful to finally end this conversation, but when he desperately tried to find another subject to talk about- he had to eventually put up with the fact he was not going to get anything beyond that from Derek for the who-knows-how-much time that was left for them to suffer together in the vehicle, until the redemptive call from Scott.

He slipped down his seat, joined hands and intentionally released a loud, unpleased huff and under a scowl, as he tried to compete with Derek's infamous one, probably without much success.

-

"Man, at least think about it!"

"No way Scott, no chance." Stiles walked back and forth across the room with jumpiness, his hand being raised to scratch this buzzed haircut over and over again. "I promised my Dad I'm not gonna use my strength ever again, not even during emergencies. And this is the one promise I actually don't want to lie about!"

It was right after the showdown at Derek’s house yard. Stiles had what was originally planned to be a short stop at his own home to clean himself before visiting Lydia at the hospital, so he would not come with the smell of her attacker’s burning body. Scott used it to be able to talk with him without other people around, in his mission to try and convince his thinking-a-few-steps-ahead-to-avoid-taking-unnecessry-huge-risks friend to do the only thing he refused to ever consider doing.

"And if it was a real life or death situation, would you really not use it?" Scott continued to persuade Stiles to hear him out, from the bad he was sitting on.

Stiles stopped at his place – just for a moment – to roll his eyes at Scott. "Of course I would, but that's not the point! This is something even I can't allow myself to do, Scott. I may not shift into something that’s driven by instincts even animals don’t have, but it wouldn't make me less dangerous. I wish I could just pull a Hulk Smash, but it doesn’t work that way in reality when you don’t know what you’re doing."

Needless to say, Stiles was not the most graceful being in the world- something Scott was well aware to.  As though his clumsiness had not injured him enough by doing nothing more than walking down the hall at school or brushing his teeth- then now his attempt to pass through this little thing called living-without-leaving-any-brutal-damage-on-others' would become even more complicated. He would not even need those crazy supernatural threats – which would surely continue to arrive out of nowhere – to be worry about the well-being of his surroundings on a daily basis.

"You lived with it fine so far, Stiles," Scott insisted. "It's not like it will catch you out of nowhere like it did with me. The incident you had – "

" – That incident happened with my very basic level of my power, after years without doing any kind of sport and being basically nothing but skin and bones."

Stiles almost snapped at the mention of it, jaw clenching and a harsh gaze being locked at Scott.

He knew it was an unfamiliar look on Stiles' face to it catch Scott completely in surprise, and he seemed lost for a second until Stiles continued and let him out from his thoughts. "Just try to imagine what would happen when I'm in shape, and after I build muscle mass. I'm better off now for everyone's sake."

"But you have to do it, Stiles!” Scott was not shocked enough by Stiles’ reaction to make him less persistent. “Of course you are a huge help anyway, and there's nothing that would cause me to make you stay out of this, but it'll put away so much worries for me when I don't have to be distracted by keeping an eye on you. You'll be able to fight for yourself without being depended on other people, being on your own without a fear you'll get hurt or kidnapped to be used – "

" – I know, Scott, okay?” Stiles had to cut him off or he would completely lose his patience. “Believe me when I say I've already thought of all those pros myself. But it's not like I can do it without someone to teach and guide me through this. It's usually my role, but I've done my research – and you know that if I'm a guru at something then it’s in the art of obscure research – and I- I have no freaking clue what I’m even supposed to be. okay?"

He pursed his lips, forcing himself to take a long breath as he tries to calm himself down, so he could think of the proper way to express himself good enough to his friend.

"What if- " He waved his hand in the air as he tried to look for a good example. "What if I get to a point where I can't hold myself back enough to be able to hold a glass without breaking it, or destroy someone's hand when all I did was shaking it? What if my Dad dies by a simple hug by me?" Stiles stopped again for a few seconds to let Scott internalize his words before he expanded. "The reason I got into this stupid world of supernatural was to prevent you from killing or being killed by others, but it doesn't mean I really need to be _a part_ of it. My curiosity goes as far as being exposed to it and knowing what's going on, but that's not what I'm evolving in that. And besides," he put his hands on his hips, grasping the side of his shirt in a way that almost ripped it.

"What? What is it?" Scott got up of the bed, putting his palm on Stiles’ shoulder- encouraging him to continue.

"I…" Stiles bit his lip, trying to pick a point in the space of the room to fix his gaze on, but eventually just lowered his face. "Peter offered me the bite," He took a deep breath, looking back at Scott, "And I refused. I know I got really excited once I understood you're a Werewolf, but I don't know what it would turn me into. Like worrying about you not getting out of control because some rouge Alpha isn't enough, and- "

Scott patted on his shoulder. "It's alright, Stiles. I get it. I'm glad you told me this, because it still frightens me too, even if not as much as before. But Peter's dead, and I won't be Derek's Beta no matter what. And if one day I get out of control- at least it will be after I saved and protected people from those who went out of control even before me. And that's why I stopped fighting it- so if it does happen to me, I have to first of all make sure it will be only me, 'cause dealing with only one Werewolf is easier. And for that I need to make sure there's someone I can rely on that would not only know how to stop me, but be able to do it himself."

Stiles looked on the young Werewolf he referred to as his best friends for years now for a good reason, and nodded weakly with understanding.

Scott knew he still was not fully convicted, and continued. "And the same goes with you- if you go out of control, I'll be the one to stop you, like you’ll stop anyone who’ll try to get close to your Dad since you’re in this. That's why I’ll keep getting stronger, because who knows is something else will come at us beside the Argents, and I'm not going to hold back just because I can't 100 percent trust myself." He squeezed Stiles' shoulder once more, this time a little harder, like preparing him for what he was about to say next. "What happened back then, just forget it. What's done is done. You're good as long as we have each other, whether it kids picking on you at school or you trying to train your super-strength without killing anyone while doing so. Just stay close to me, but no too much, you know," he let himself grow a little smile. "I have a life, after all."

Stiles nodded again, this time with more confidence- and smiled back. "You play at your computer just as much as I do, Scotty. Don't try to pretend you're better than me."

Scott pushed at his shoulder gently and laughed.

"Alright, I'll try it out," Stiles said eventually. "Just don't tell anything to my Dad."

"So you'll burst out on me for real? Pfft, yeah right."

Stiles laughed as well, hiding the doubt which he still had to this idea.

Even though he had to agree it was worth to take the risk for, he could never trust himself without knowing what he was dealing with. Even though he knew he had a strong self-control when it came to those kinds of situations, there was no way to tell if it would be actually effective when he lost temper. Moreover, there was always the chance someone would come and activate something in him that would make him to lose control entirely, just like Alphas can do with their Omegas.

All of these could be considered as crazy scenarios if the last weeks had not been even more bizarre. Therefore, he decided he would have to take the trainings as slowly as possible, out of hope he would somehow be able to find out soon about himself.

-

In the long run, Stiles had not had time to begin his workouts anyway, what with the Kanima showing up out of nowhere and the increasing tension between Derek's growing pack to the Hunters.

During the week after Matt’s death, he could not avoid the thoughts about developing his mutant power, especially after ending up being so helpless while trying to protect Lydia from a pack that had been after her head. It had made him realize even more the impertinency and urgency of doing so, as he could be helpful not only by knowledge and strategies. He may had been able to save Derek by staying with him for two whole hours inside the pool, but as someone who was perhaps just a little bit stronger than an Omega- he was not exactly capable of being helpful enough, considering that even Derek, now the Alpha, could not react quickly enough before he was poisoned by the Kanima's paralyzing venom.

“I wanna help, you know,” he told Scott as they were sitting on the bench, trying not to choke over the feeling of actually losing to Gerard, with no way to escape it. Scott then told him that it was okay, only his eyes said something else; they both knew he could help, if only he would try to do the right thing and take the risk after all. He promised himself at that moment that, if somehow they did find a way out of that mess, the first thing he would do is whatever it took to fulfill his potential to be stronger. His Father would not like it, but it may be for his own good too- those who he would have to deal with might eventually come after him as well, like Scott had suggested during the first time they had discussed about it, and there was no way Stiles would be powerless as his lone family member he had left got captured by something immune to guns.

And so, after Jackson had returned to normal – or more correctly, finally changed into a real Werewolf – Stiles got pretty quickly into a serious training routine, starting to spend a few hours every day in jogging and simple muscles workout. The start was rusty, but after four weeks into the routine, he managed to run a reasonable distance without stumbling over himself or semi-fainting without warning.

It was not like Stiles at all, to actively try engaging with anything without having at least a brief knowing of what he was dealing with. For so many times it had almost cost him in giving up on everything, as though the hard time he was having was not enough to overcome. The curiosity about the body he had been born with, that he had had to push down over and over again during all those years, was one of the things that helped him to keep going the most, alongside that weird feeling in his bones, almost another entity of itself hidden within his very DNA, that was thrilled for finally act on his potential.

Nevertheless, he did not try to check the Internet for a new clue about anything related to his… _something-ness_. There was just no chance for it.

He did not take Derek’s theory about the roots of his middle name seriously, too – it was not even his first name, which was far more dominant, so why would it matter anyway? – and had no intention to be the one to get it into the Internet's records, thank you very much. He had always planned to never acknowledge its existence at all until he would be eighteen and change the name that would be accounted as his first; his current two would not be removed, of course, and remain a part of him as an act of respect to his Mother- while he would officially be called Stiles.

Additionally, and far more importantly, he was not ready to believe his Mother could had lied to his father and him about something so meaningless as the ethnic origins of her family, especially as it was the only information he had ever been given about them. No, if she had anything to hide – which, okay, she probably had done, considering he had given that immense strength from her after all – it would not be about that.

Only he knew that even if he had ever showed interested in her family's history, she would had probably not telling him nothing in order to protect him, although she had surely owed his father explanations after the car incident. If there was something his father could never do, it was hiding things from him or avoiding him from figuring them out, so there was no chance she could had known anything without Stiles already being aware of it by this point.

Admittedly, right after his speculation for Scott being turned into a Werewolf had been proved to be true, he spent hours in the bathroom trying to change his own eye colour, as eyes were a common feature among shape-shifters. Even though being one was something he should had had to notice long ago anyway – with occurrences like blackouts or finding himself in weird places all of a sudden like Scott had had – he still had let himself having what had felt to be his last hope, after all, once learning that at least part of the world of mythological creatures was real. No matter how much time he had been spending in trying, though, he had not found any success.

Then Deaton had given him the mountain ash, and had told him how spark was needed in order to use it. Later he would assure him that he was not a Druid or something similar to that, and was not related to some Druid who had shared some of his magic with him, and pushed him out of the clinic before giving more answers on that matter.

It seemed he was not a laboratory experiment after all, neither was bitten by something radioactive yet less cool than a spider.

In any case, those attempts to catalog himself under some topic of the supernatural, as general as it may be, may had failed, but he still found the negation of them to be much more helpful than Derek’s supposed lead.

No, Derek had not mention it during the other times they had met, but Stiles could just _feel_ that expectation behind his gaze, which drove Stiles mad. He wanted to find out just so he could show Derek how dumb he had been to think there was some truth to his idea of the answer to the eternal mystery which was the identity of his organism.

Yes, there was always the chance that his Great-Grandfather had been partly Greek- but just as well that he was just called after someone they had known, or had simply loved the name, as his first one was not _enough_ unpronounceable for them.

How could something as little as this explain what his power was _intended_ for, with no known natural enemies, or why his body was so vulnerable in comparison to his immense strength? What could it point that would explain why he had lived for seven long years thinking that everyone was the same as him, yet there was something in him that let him show off his prowess only to his Father?

Next time Derek could just kill him to check if he happened to be some kind of an undead creature, and the crazily enough, it would _still_ make more sense.

If only it was like he had always imagined it: only ever telling anyone else about his secret after a heroic act, where he would have no other choice but exposing himself in front of the one he would save out of whatever distress it may be, and if he would have luck he may even get something out of that with them.

A little bit like in Harlequin Romances, only the gender identity did not matter. In fact, the idea of a male-damsel falling to his arms after a gallant rescue really turned him on.

-

"Have you come up with anything yet?"

Startling situations like that were exactly why Stiles always paid heed to sit at the center on his bed, in a safe distance of jumping head first into the wall or falling to the floor from the other side.

He looked at the sneaky Werewolf, who had already managed to settle himself against the table, hands crossed above his chest. The shithead had the nerve to get comfortable while making another appearance in his room.

Even the anger had washed away fast – sadly, since the bastard deserved to be scolded – but he could not help it anymore by now. Derek showing up in his room was not the kind of visit where the cause could simply be a personal amusement or other reason that was not to feel worried about, even if Beacon Hills had been quiet for a while now.

He put down the comics he was drawn into until this point – so much, in fact, that he walked into the room without noticing Derek’s presence at all – and turned his entire attention to Derek. "About what?"

"Your name. Alcaeüs."

Stiles flinched. He had expected being told about a new monster or some other new threat he somehow happened to miss, but instead he felt relieved and annoyed at the same time as he was reminded that his name was a nuisance of its own.

Everyone was completely fine with "Stiles", right after they had gotten familiar with it enough to forget about how weird of a nickname it was. Whoever found it below his honour to refer to him by that simply settled with calling him Stilinski- which may had been pronounced with an arrogant tone, but never because of the name itself, which was rolled off the tongue just fine.

Derek, though, being desperate to miserable Stiles’ life- kept stubbornly having a problem with it for his part. Fortunately, he possessively kept the joy of it to himself- he had never mentioned the name to the others, or Stiles would had known. There was no way in hell they would leave him alone with that, with the weak excuse of wanting to please their Alpha.

"No,” Stiles answered firmly, “and I'm not gonna try to just because some Wolfsbane poisoning was enough to leave you confused with the illusion that,” his expression became mocking towards the end of the sentence, “part of my name is Greek. As if being in a serious trauma with this entire Argents-Kanima mess is not enough, now you bring up to me this name issue I’ve dealt with for years now?"

"You’re seriously trying to convince me you don’t want to find out what you truly are?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. If that what he came for, why doing so by stepping on his pride?

The subject still being on Derek's agenda and continuing to bother him was no surprise for Stiles, as he could had not miss the hint of helplessness every time they were alone and Stiles had teased him on how he could easily be an even match for him – even now that he was an Alpha – if only he had trained.

Obviously, that helplessness had always been covered by a murderous look, but Stiles enjoyed too much the way he could attract attention out of him without Derek being able to remark or doing anything else about it- harming him now was just too childish and they both knew it. Thinking about it, at some level it was Stiles’ own fault for building the anticipation for the moment he could force with Stiles to get stronger so he could prove him wrong.

Therefore, even though he was not ready at all to the way the subject was brought up – Creeper Derek was something that was just too impossible to get used to – that situation was far from coming out of the blue, though not understandable as there was no reason for him to stick his wolf nose into Stiles’ business.

"Like I told you on the first time,” he sighed, “I'm Stiles Stilinski, and one discovery or another will not change it that easily. If it bothers you so much and you just refuse to believe me, then why don’t you do research on your own and find yourself there is no answer for it at all?"

"Not only nothing can be compared to the self-declared source to all sources, but I also know you, Stiles,” Derek said in complete confident, which followed by Stiles rolling his eyes. “You always have to know everything and figure out any little detail so you're in complete control with the situation. There's no way not being able to tell what you are doesn't drive you crazy, and you wouldn’t give up unless there was something you couldn’t allow yourself to touch, either subconsciously or not."

Stiles smiled at him like someone who tried to look as sane as possible would.

"Did you know that Sigismund the second was the most flourish king during the Jagiellonian dynasty? No? I wouldn't have either, if I wasn't so curious to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be, which led me to memorize any detail about the whole history of Poland, just in case the historians I corresponded with would mention anything suspiciously unnatural about any event that occurred!”

As he got too flared up to continue talking, Stiles rubbed at his buzzcut, which he recently started to consider to give up on and growing up hair instead. With irritated situations like this becoming more and more recent, and he felt like he needed hair to go with his fingers through.

Besides, there was really no point in keeping the haircut that his Mother had loved the most anymore, not while getting involved in something as this that felt like stabbing her in the back.

“Yes, of course it drives me fucking insane to have no clue at all," he admitted further, not bothering to hide the disappointment of himself in his voice. "But I know enough to figure that this is just a riddle I'll never find anything or anyone to get an answer from. Before you brought that up, I had actually started to come to terms with it."

Seriously, what in trying-everything-he-could did Derek cannot get?

"But that was before I told you Alcaeüs is not – "

" – Will you stop mentioning that name?" Stiles winced once again, uncomfortably. "Look, I appreciate your interest and all, but do you honestly think I was told lies about my roots just so I wouldn't search about the Greek Mythology? That for years I kept myself afar of the right route to the answer by being too grossed out to read about the one who is responsible for my terrible middle name?”

Derek's face remained serious and unimpressed.

Yep, he was defiantly returning Stiles’ way to frustrate him by hitting such soft spots.

"It's not like I dropped any option away once the internet and the books let me down, okay?" Stiles tried another way to make Derek to leave the idea that there was a solution to this. "Right now, the only possible thing I have left is the Argent’s Bestiary: 900 pages of Latin that only Lydia is capable of to read, only she barely smiles at me when we run into each other at school, which pretty much means I've just officially ran out of sources."

Derek observed him thoroughly- like there was something in Stiles himself that he was trying to understand rather than his words. Instead of leaving him irate, though – as it _should_ – Stiles had to swallow the will to swallow at being in the end of the focused hazel gaze.

"Are you sure that's why you gave up?"

Derek pushed himself away from the table, and slowly took a couple of steps closer to Stiles, making his pulse quicken with no particular reason.

"You're not someone who'd just leave it and admit failure, Stiles. Is there anything you suspect in, any doubt you’re afraid to talk about or think it's not important enough to consider?"

Stiles wetted his lips. What was he implying? The only thing Stiles could think of was the fear that that his so-comprehensive-that-history-books-got-nothing-on-him-now research on the Polish history and culture was for nothing.

Derek had listened and taken his words seriously so far when it came to anything else, so what was different now? Like it was not ridiculous enough that he was using the name “Stiles” so many times like he was that obsessive with any form of referring to him.

“If one day you showed up here and asked me to search about an obscure creature that the only thing you know about is that it wears a human face and has super strength, I'd slam the window in your face,” Stiles told him honestly. “Just think for a sec how bizarre it sounds to know only that."

Derek did not respond, as though it only Stiles was only drifting off of the subject, and it was not enough to answer his question.

Stiles closed his eyes, and shook his head.

"No, I _didn’t_ give up. For the _thousand_ time, I’m just out of sources! And you know what, even if my searching would be based on lists of creature types from D &D sources and characters in online games, let me assure you both of them cover pretty much all the known beings you can think of, including the Greeks', and there weren’t any similar features to me in any of the creatures.”

Derek shrugged, still not buying it. "For me it sounds like you just keep making more and more excuses. You don't even train properly- you go for a run and do push-ups instead of practicing, testing your possible talents. Not only doing it properly will actually get you somewhere, it might as well give you the clue you need for figuring it out."

There was the fact that Derek knew he was working out when it did not even start to show on him – was he told by Scott or was he actually _following him_? – and then how he was provoked, as it was hard enough to do anything while not drawing any attention or being suspected by anybody. Only staying undercover so his Father would not find out a thing was hard enough.

Was that it? The reason for Derek to pressure Stiles to find out about his kind was so he could suggest a better treatment to his condition so he could seduce him into his pack?

Did he really think he could make Stiles ignore the more important thing that was happening in the background?

Stiles hummed. "Enlighten me then, Mr. Alpha of the year. Go ahead and give me a lecture on focusing on things that trouble us more than anything, while you're here arguing about my _name_ when two of your Betas are captured by gods-know-who somewhere out there."

Stiles had definitely not miss the missing posters which had been hanged all around the town, and the fact Derek had surely had something to do with it.

At first Stiles had thought they were gone for training, just like Isaac appeared only randomly at school, enough so the social workers would not come after him. But the more time had passed since he had seen them – an incident Stiles was almost sure had nothing to do with this – and as Isaac’s face turned more and more hopeless- the more Stiles suspected there was something serious going on.

As Derek's lips were pursing tightly, his mouth a thin line- his suspicions turned out to be true.

Derek looked away for a second, clearly not liking the turn in the conversation. Stiles did not regret mentioning it, though, since it was the truth- Derek had much bigger problems to worry about, and he did not have a reason to confront Stiles at that moment unless he came to ask for help.

It made Stiles suddenly wondering if Derek's disapproval with his lack of success in doing such a complicated, impossible research meant he could not do any search for him as well.

"I'll come ask for your help," Derek told him eventually, as though reading his thoughts, "but not before you are strong enough and in full control of your body."

His two Betas were missing, and _that_ was supposed to be his excuse for not accepting any kind of help?

Stiles just gave up on being serious about this subject.

"Nah, I don't know. My clumsiness just feels too much as a part of my charm. I wouldn't hurry to lose it."

"I don't have time to deal with it myself." Derek seemed to purposely ignore the snark behind Stiles’ comment, "but I'm going to make sure you will get train properly. If you want to get involved in this, you should be able to utilize any single feature you have and can use in a fight."

He turned to leave, but Stiles stopped him midway. "Oh my gods, you can't just throw it into the air without any explanation! If _you_ won't be the one to do it, then who will?"

Derek turned his head to Stiles’ direction, although he did not meet his eyes. "Don't worry about it for now. Think about this instead, for the next time we'll meet: why do you keep saying _Gods_ instead of _God_?"

And with that he used his super speed to disappear through the window, leaving Stiles all confused, and with too many thoughts running through his head to be able to go back to the comics book in his lap.

Out of all the points that Derek brought up, though, for some reason his mind kept trailing back to the last comment he made.

Saying “ _Oh My Gods_ ” was one of the many ways of speech he had gotten from his Mother. No one had ever noticed it beside on the chats of his mythological online video games, where he was constantly mocked for it- but he had always found it too cool to stop using it, even if it was not one of the most precious things he held onto in memory of his Mother. He had never cared for religion enough to wonder on the concept of what was more right for him to say, either, but that was when he only considered the existence of the lone god, not of multiple.

His legs moved without warning him about it in advance, and of course he forgot to change the position on his bed again, and being now too close to its edge- he fell on the floor.

He was glad it happened, though- that was how he was shaken off before he did what he was about to do.

No, he would _not_ go to his computer just because some jerk was going down on his problems instead of helping him with them.

And who cared, anyway? It was not like the knowledge of the meaning behind his name would really help him in any way, and that Mr. Know-It-All could not tell him shit as long as he was procrastinating instead of searching after his Betas.

And Stiles wanted to help finding them, he really did. If only they knew that the stupid Alpha of them would not agree him to join in and get some details to start looking for them his own way, without him figuring out first about something that had nothing to do with them.

It was indescribably idiotic, but in the end, he had to do it for Erica and Boyd, as long as Derek did not know better. Once it was all over, though, he was _so_ going to hit some sense – not literally, of course, as someone who _did_ know better about things –  into him, for not getting reaching for any kind of help he could find, as time was running out.

And so Stiles got off of the floor, sitting on his bed again. It took him a couple more times of standing up just to sit down again repeatedly before he more or less made out his mind, at least enough to go sitting in front of his computer, and picked Google Search from the bookmark list.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/165690556781/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-1)


	2. Chapter 2

The Abominable Snowman brilliancy he had come with on the spot when being asked by Matt what he was, was not a sudden comeback that popped into his mind out of nowhere. In fact, he and Scott had already thought about it a few winters prior, when they had been having a snow fight against each other at the rare snowy days that had been that year, and Stiles had been carelessly hitting Scott too powerfully with his snowballs- which otherwise had been too little to harm seriously. The joke would have them laughing through the whole following afternoon, and they both decided it would be their official title for Stiles’ unknown condition.

It made sense, after all- he _had_ always favoured the winter more than the rest of the seasons, even if it was less for the excitement of the rare times when they got snow, and more for that rumbling sound that came from the sky, and gave him a warm feeling of home like no other.

That year there was unfortunately no snow, though, and right when everything was settled down after the Kanima incident- the heat of California was just beginning to kick in. It got so bad that even Stiles, the one who had always been sensitive to cold, had to say goodbye to his beloved flannel shirts for now.

He liked the sense of freedom that the summer brought with its arrival, but had always fed up quickly by it, just as soon as the heat began to be intolerable. That year, for some reason, the need for winter came sooner than it ever had during all the summers he had been through –- even if he had only had fifteen of them so far -– even though the temperatures were not even half as high as they can get to in the peak of the season. Of course, none of the winters he had been through had been like the recent one.

During his daily joggings, he found himself drifting more and more to the woods, where it was a little cooler and the air was somewhat less heavy and stuffy. It was after a while that he realized it was the environment which he missed much more than the weather itself; the clean air, that little hope that the daily lacrosse practice –- or daily humiliation, in Stiles' case -– would be canceled due to rain, and above everything: the lightnings.

Lightnings had always fascinated Stiles more than any other force of nature. They were brisk and deadly, but they called for him more than anything, as though their shape of roots could _mean_ something.

When asked what he wanted to be in the future, one of the answers which always came before he shared the serious one -– law enforcement -– was to be a storm chaser. Moreover, the article about it in Wikipedia was the one of the few ones which he took seriously, and even spent serious amount of time reading other sources so he could edit it to become a high-rated article, and it meant a lot considering he _hated_ Wikipedia, and usually preferred to have too many arguments in the articles’ chat page than actually try to correct them (another exception was, unsurprisingly, the one about Werewolves; later on, he would understand the importance of making the accessible article as incorrect as possible, and would rewrite in a way that those who ran into a real one would not be able to identify others, while leaving even more false information -– though believable and not too absurd to be changed later by some smartass nerd of myth -– to cover the real facts, so no one outside the supernatural world would be able to suspect anything).

He did not know why, but there was something about that phenomenon he was really drawn to. As a little kid, not only he had never been afraid of thunderstorms, but also had never understood _why_ should anyone be scared of them, at least as long as they were protected inside a building. Usually startling him was a very easy thing to do, but thunders definitely never affected him that way, and if anything, only _comforted_ him.

They reminded him there were things far more serious than those he was bothered about at that time, and the beauty of them helped him to forget about anything else, with his thoughts drifting off, even for a little while. They were unsteady, expected and unexpected at the same time; they appeared out of the blue, just to show up from another corner in the sky; they were all over the place, as they tried to reach and light on everything- and all of that was just so much like him.

Nevertheless, he did not acknowledge lightnings as one of his hobbies or special interest, but he did have a folder with pictures -– some from the internet, some of his own –- on his laptop, right between the folder where he saved Star Wars memes to show to Scott once he would finally _bother_ to watch that, and other one with ideas for presents for Lydia’s next birthday.

During those hot days of late spring, he only rarely flashed a glance outside the window, already familiar with the pain from the longing for stormy days; sadly so, because if he did, he might have noticed how, even during days without one drop falling to the ground, random lightnings cut through the sky every now and then.

And this time, they called him back.

 

~-~

Coach Finstock whistled everyone to pay attention to him, looking prouder than ever.

“The weeks of endless raining are finally over, the sun is shining bright and the Deities seem to finally smile on your dear ol’ coach- because Greenberg here broke his leg and will be inactive for the recent weeks, if not 'till the end of the year. Keep it up, kid!” He patted the boy's shoulder, smiling proudly at him, then returned his attention to the rest of the team. “It also means I have no one to willingly volunteer to stay after school and help me with the mess you incorrigible barbarians leave behind you every day. So, I'll tell you what- since Danny was sick and went home early, you all will take part as the goalie role today, and whoever misses the most balls will replace Greenberg.”

Loud groans and grumbles were heard from all across the room, and were silenced only by the Coach's promise to change his mind and to instead appoint the first one to say anything before they all got to the field.

Only keeping it down was a hard task for Stiles, especially as he was already resenting over his certain failure.

“You know it's completely unfair, right?” He told Scott right after they both did their first step on the grass. “Staying with Coach to clean up the mess is the _captain's_ job. So okay, one of the two we have, Jackson, the walking miracle after everyone watched him dying on the field, is currently released from practicing at least until the end of the year, when he finishes his so-called rehabilitation institute, when he's actually with Derek learning the wolfy-ways so he won’t end up getting out of control and murder anyone. But then we have you, who’s supposed to replace him as the former co-captain, but _of course_ you're the last one to suck at the goalie role with your ridiculous super-human instincts."

“Don’t give up so fast! I’m sure they’re other guys who’ll do much worse than you.”

Stiles groaned at his friend’s fail attempt to encourage him. “Scott, goalie is one of the spots I suck the _most_ , and this is a very hard list to get into considering I’m pretty much suck at _everything_.”

“You don't… _always_ suck. You just think this because Coach makes you sit on the bench most of the time.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Scott was _such_ a great supporter as usual.

“Why won't you do the same thing you did at that game you won? You had no problem catching the ball whenever someone threw it at your direction.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s not that I _did_ something, I just… _entered_ into some kind of a zone mode when Lydia screamed my name, because I could focus on her voice instead on those around me. But most of the time my ADHD comes in the way, so it’s not really an option.”

That game was everything he had wanted for so long. The look from both his Father and Lydia’s eyes was worth everything he had had to give up on, especially the day he had to miss playing at first line to investigate on the Alpha who bit his best friend and to almost be attacked by him. It had also been about leading his team to the win, sure, but it had not been as great as the fact that their pride had come from the fact that he had been saving the team rather than the goals he had scored.

“So try to imagine her voice every time you’re in that position,” Scott suggested.

Stiles snorted. “As if Lydia will ever cheer on someone who’s in a risk to become the team’s new caddy. Coach may even try to reward me for that victory and keep me in that role for the rest of high school.”

“Just take it as a part of your training." Scott kept insisting giving him the hope he did not deserve. “Who knows, you might find some new unknown talents.”

Stiles stared at him speechless for a couple of moments, wondering for the who-the-hell-can-count time how come it was Scott between the two of them who got to have fun times, even though he had always had a ridiculous amount of optimism at a level of a child.

“So in all the life-risking situations we’ve been through until now, I’ve never pulled out any uncovered ability that equals to your Werewolf instincts, but _now_ I will?” Stiles had to smile a little, because he could not take Scott seriously anymore unless he treated that so-called blind belief as something adorable. “Well, at least you still have hope in me despise all this time.”

After the warm-up -– which was slightly less difficult for him at that point, something that probably was the only positive thing his workouts paid him off for so far -– the team settled in a queue, and one after another the players tried to score a goal, as every time there was someone else who guard the goal post.

Unsurprisingly, Stiles did not make an amazing performance; he was not able to block even one shot, and although Scott scored his ball right into Stiles' stick- it only made Coach to get angry with them both and threaten them that they better repeat it, seriously this time.

Once his turn was finally over- Finstock used the whistle, and Stiles immediately decided he hated the sound of it more than anything in his life.

"We have a winner!" He clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone take a five, then I'll bust your asses more than normally in favor for the little fun we had here."

As Scott joined the rest of the team and ran to the benches, Stiles approached Finstock with the little piece of hope that remained in him. “What about the others who didn't try yet?"

"Your loss was absolute, Stilinski,” he answered simply. “There's no point in testing them."

"I know, just, there's always chance one of them won't catch any ball as well."

His Coach looked confused and irritated by it. "So what's your point?"

Stiles put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, shrugging nonchalantly. "One of them can join me and help me do my job much more effectively instead of leaving me doing this, you know, alone. By myself. All by my own. Unaccompanied -- "

The Coach snorted. "Stilinski, go over there and take your five like everyone else, unless you want to be my little helper during economics class as well."

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a couple of times until he decided the for better of it and did as he was told.

The practice turned to be one of the most devastated Stiles ever had, especially with the stingy thought that he had to return there once the school day was over unlike the rest, instead of heading straight home and finding something a little more cheerful to focus on. Even homework felt like an enjoyable idea.

At some aspect it was also over too soon, and the showers were empty apart of himself when he was waiting for his Coach to finish whatever business he had in his office. It was quiet except for the sound that came behind the closed door, where a loud noise of objects being replaced or reorganized was heard.

After a few minutes Stiles got up to knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Finstock’s tone was clearly unpleased, as though he was the one who was made to spend his free time arranging order, which would be ruined less than a day afterwards.

“Me, Stiles. You know, the one you made staying after school to help you with the equipment, instead of letting him enjoy his youth while he still can? You know, you can tell me if the true reason for this is supposed to be some kind of revenge for that exact thing, so you now somehow hold a grudge against me that every day from now on you’re gonna make a huge mess for me to clean by myself. Is that what you’re really doing in there? Because -– “

“ -– Stilinski, shut the hell up. Just wait for half a minute.”

Stiles’ patience ran out after exactly thirty-one seconds. “Yep, Coach, anytime.”

“Don't rush me,” came the grumble from behind the door, which somehow could still be heard above the noise of moving objects. “If you want to take advantage of that time, then you can think of the right words to express your gratefulness towards me properly for agreeing to spend with you my dear free time for this.”

“Oh, that’s right, because you’re also forced to help me with it because otherwise you’ll get detention here, then be grounded at home for your F in extracurricular activity, when you’re even supposed to get a grade for those.”

“The money is definitely worth it, but it doesn't make me more thrilled about it. Last time I trained someone, I found myself with one less testicle.”

Stiles was too confused to react to the other’s words. Since when had his salary been worth all the trouble he claimed his students make him go through? Did it have to do with the school’s new temporary principal -– one of the teachers who took the rule after Gerard’s absence -– who took the chance to improve it?

Not that Stiles could blame them for that, if so. He could only imagine what was it like to be under his supervision.

He decided to ignore that for now, as the absurd mention of the Coach’s infamous story interested him even more. “I thought you lost it while running around naked in the cold.”

“Exactly! That little brat was so done with me forcing him to train in the snow, that he stole my clothes while I was in the shower and ran away!" The noise stopped for a little, as though the an inside thought about something disturbing enough to make him leaving off his doings. “But why do you remember that story so well? That's a disturbing detail to remember.”

“It's not like I think about it every day. Or _at all_ ,” Stiles hurried to add. “Losing it seems like a very hard experience and it makes me feeling- wait, that's not the point! What does it have to do with this in the first place?”

No sound came for a while until the Coach suddenly burst out laughing. “So you honestly thought this all show of making an excuse for you to stay with me every day after school was _for real_?! What did you think I sent Danny home early for?”

Stiles became more bothered by the moment. “Y-You didn't send Danny home early, he was _sick_!”

“When did I ever send a kid home because he was _sick_? Last year Rodriguez had his both eyes covered because of a surgery, and I still forced him to come to the game the day afterward. He broke both of his legs, but at least this gigantic guy from the other team lost some teeth as well when he hit him with his stick, and we won the game.”

Stiles swallowed. “Then Greenberg’s leg…?”

“Hey, don’t say it like that! I wasn’t there when it happened, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he was _startled_ into falling down the sloppy stairs.”

Then what could this be about? Why going out of his way to make Stiles stay after school when he did to even plan for him to really be used as a caddy?

Unless…

“Wait, are you too embarrassed to admit that the school started to have a faith in me, after I exposed a potential during that game, that you looked for an excuse to act on your desperation to receive money for extra hours of private training, so it would not go to waste?”

“My _life_ will go to waste soon if you won’t shut up and open the door for me,” Finstock exhaled heavily, as though he was carrying something heavy.

Stiles did not know why, but he hesitated a little to do so, and opened the door very carefully. It turned out to be for a good reason, as a huge chest was shoved into his hands once there was enough space for it to go through.

Stiles let the weight take him down, almost all the way to make him fall on his knees. “Ugh, Coach, I don’t think -– “

“ -– You can stop pretending. It’s about time I see for myself how well you’ve faked your lack of strength this entire time, you little punk.”

Stiles started to feel being slowly crushed under the heavy weight, only it was not of the box but the fact that his Coach now knew too about his uniqueness.

He had played it out just he had always done, and even during that game he had starred at he had not used his strength at all –- he had requested the tape and watched it twice to make sure nothing was suspicious – then how could this happen all of a sudden?

He slowly stood up again, and let his still gasping Coach to guide him the right way as his range of sight was blocked.

“Oh, dammit, I thought I was gonna be buried under this thing. But _look_ at you, how you carry that like your skinny hands are made of metal! The team needed you, and you just let me keep you on the bench.”

“Oh, no, it's actually heavy, like, really-really heavy. No, seriously, it feels like you somehow were able to fill Jackson's entire ego inside. Unless you just put him inside, that'll explain where he has disappeared to, which I wouldn’t be surprised about with all that you did so far just to- But hey, it’s not like I'd be able to raise him if that was the case, right? I don't know how I didn't fall until now- you can't see, but my hands are all shaky. I mean, yeah, I may have got a little bit thicker than I used to be last year, but not something that really improved –- “

Suddenly Stiles realized they were heading out to the open field, and it was then where he really started to freak out and have blood disappear from his face; soon even the weight he was carrying would be unbearable.

He pushed against Finstock’s hands, slowly forcing him to retreat as well, until the hands that were pressed against his back were gone all at once, to the point he really had to use his entire strength to block himself from falling back.

He put it down once he found balance, sending the other an angry gaze.

“It's alright, Stilinski. I know all about those magical muscles you hide under this boney look of yours, and that no one else can know about it.”

Stiles blinked in surprise. The fact that he mentioned the importance of keeping it in secret meant that someone _talked_ with him about it, as his Coach could never care less for something like that. He was not sure whether to prepare himself to be worried about the source of that information or trust him, but felt his facial expression becoming firm by touching that subject anyway.

“ _How_?” He interrogated. Why would I be applied to train you without knowing that, idiot?

“I may be stuck here on this stupid local high school with lacrosse instead of being a legendary football coach in a well-known college, but I have a big name when it comes to supernatural training, at least. Or unfortunately, because that’s why I had to sacrifice my dream and to say no when I was asked to work for bigger schools, to not risk the secret of this world being revealed.”

“But who told you about _me_?” Stiles demanded, ignoring the doubtful story of Coach being asked to coach better school teams.

“Why do you keep asking me like you have no clue what I'm talking about? This _Derek_ guy told me you still don't know what you are, but -– “

“ –- Derek? It was all _Derek's_ idea?!”

And it all suddenly made sense now, with the promise he made to Stiles to find someone to train him properly. Stiles did not think about that so far because he had not been able taken an idea as messed up as that seriously, of an Alpha with missing Betas could seriously waste time on _him_.

Had everything that happened drove Derek _that_ far out of his mind?

“Who else do you think would pay me to do it then, the president? Now stop with the questions, I don't want to hear anything else 'till the end of the day except of _thank you, my dear, best-in-the-world coach, for being so kind and generous and sharing your precious and rare knowledge with me_.”

So Derek offered _payment_ for that, instead of just his normal violent way to get what he wanted out of people? That situation just grew more and more wrong by the minute, and it looked like Stiles would have to fill Derek’s request –- even though he _hated_ being paid for -– just so he could cover for him when they did not have the advantage of the enemy’s fear of water by their side.

And there was this other thing, that Derek had surely asked Finstock about already, but just in case he was that much of an asshole and not share it with Stiles…

“I promise I'll shut up, but there's just one more thing I have to know.” Stiles swallowed, preparing himself for the answer as his heart missed a beat with hope. “Do you know -– “

“ -– What you are? Nope, sorry kid.” Stiles' heart sank with disappointment, because _why of course_ it would take more than this to figure it out. “And I'm not going to do a physical check, even if I’m paid double the amount.”

“I… I’ve never suggest that.”

“Good. Because one time of being attacked by hidden tentacles appearing out of nowhere was enough for me.”

Stiles _really_ did not want to know what he was talking about, and left it at that.

“So, first of all,” lucky enough, Coach Finstock was always the one to never going into details when he shared pieces of bizarre and disturbed stories, “we need to find a weapon for you, so I’ll know what to focus on. So let’s keep going to the woods, ‘cause it’s not safe to do anything out here.”

“You mean as in a weapon of choice?” Stiles picked up the box again and walked aside Finstock. “I already have one. My bat.”

It took a second for the Coach to take in what Stiles had just said before he busted out in his squeaky laugh. “A bat? An actual _Baseball_ bat? You fight with _that_?”

“It's technically Scott's Mom's bat,” Stiles admitted, though he felt a need to protect its honour like it was his. “You may want to know that there's a bunch of people who choose it as their weapon during a Zombie apocalypse, and there're a lot of theories why is it more useful than it's common to think -– “

“ -– Stilinski, cut that crap right now or I’ll make you use something worse than plastic arrows for the bow.”

Stiles' eyes grew bigger. “B-Bow? Are you serious? Coach, you know that game I won was a fluke, a _miracle_ even, right?”

“But now we know your eye is not as bad as we originally thought it to be. You made a couple of scores, and the goalie wasn’t a bad one for sure.”

Stiles tried to search for words to say against it, but the Coach eyed him too hard to be able to think about something before eventually having no choice but to comply once they reached to a point deep enough in the woods.

It was sad to hold the bow in his hands, especially while knowing there were people like Allison to do real justice with it.

Stiles then found himself wondering -– for perhaps the hundredth time -– about how the Argents seemed to be aware of any supernatural being in the town, fast to figure out about every newly bitten Beta- yet they had never found out about him.

But just how more others were they not aware of, though?

He recalled that day where he and Scott discussed about the possibility of any person they knew from school and outside of it to be a creature of some kind, having a laugh especially when they brought up their suspects on their coach, struggling not to crack up the entire practice that day.

The ruthless whistle made him almost jump out of his skin. "Snap out of your day-dreaming, Stilinski! You need to be focus now."

“Sorry, Coach, I was just wondering. You know, just for a matter of self-protection. Are you something too?”

Finstock smirked. “Oh, yeah, of course. I'm a Satyr, and my real name is actually Philoctetes, you know, after the hero- but most people just call me Phil.”

A _Satyr_? Someone he knew for two years now was secretly one of his favorite mythical creatures that entire time?!

Stiles could not help but stare at the legs of Finstock -– or Phil, according to what he claimed to really be called -– even though he knew it was not appropriate and very noticeable, but he could not help it. Not every day you discover that your coach wear only long-sleeved sweatpants because he had inhumanly hairy legs to cover underneath.

“Oh my gods, that’s so _cool_!” Stiles grinned, feeling like fangirling all over the place, even while still holding a weapon in his hands. “So do the horns are like fangs, like, being hidden under the skin and coming out only when you release them? And what do you fill your shoes with so the hooves won’t -- "

Finstock cut him off with a loud laugh, and punched his shoulder. “I just was joking with ya!”

Stiles almost withered with disappointment.

“And and now it’s really enough with this questions attacks. We have work to do.” After an intentionally indelicate once-over -– which Stiles kinda deserved after staring at Coach like he had just done -– he added, “A _lot_ of work.”

He smiled cynically at him. “Thanks, Coach. You always know how to make me believe in myself.”

After a couple of attempts, the Coach figured archery was not Stiles’ hidden talent (“Are you serious, Stilinski? My Step-Father’s parrot could have shot better than this. And it’s missing an eye!”), and apparently neither was swordfighting (“The plan is to keep me _alive_. Using a Kendo stick is not enough to avoid that, in your case. What you are doing right now is brutally failing as usual, but also almost taking my life together with what’s left of your honour!”); when Stiles was asked to pull the next weapon outside the chest, which turned out to be a spear, Finstock seriously wondered on the possibility of it for a few moments, testing it- but after looking at Stiles and back at it for a few times, he eventually gave up on the idea, gesturing Stiles to return it right back, even before trying. The daggers and nunchaku were both ruled out as well with a simple shake of his head, and once Stiles held in his hand a cubit length long wooden staff- he laughed out loud.

“A Hanbō! You can’t hold even a _stick_ properly!”

Stiles sighed. “Okay, let’s sum it up- I’m suck at all weapons. Well, except when it comes to guns, from the times I was taken to shooting ranges- but I’m doubt you let me touch it anyway.”

“Nah, we’re old fashioned here, aren’t we, Greek boy?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, annoyed, even using a big swing of his head for full effect. “So he told you about his stupid theory.”

“Hey, we’re not going to get anywhere if you start degree other’s belief in you so easily. We’ll work it out eventually, so raise your head up and let’s try it anyway. We’ll find the right one for ya, kid, don’t you worry.”

Stiles smiled a little at that. It was nice to hear his Coach's honest concern, despite him doing it not voluntary at all, and especially since they both knew Stiles would never be able to use his potential to star in games.

He did not have high expectations at that moment to be able to find a weapon which would fit him, but it was not as though he had planned to have one anyway. He preferred to only be the research guy and the brain of the pack, that when forced to fight he would be able to kick ass with his simple bat.

Developing his strength and learning how to fight was the reason he had agreed to all this in the first place, not the money Derek spent on him for whatever dark reason that it was.

He did not tell all of that to Coach and have to argue about it, though, not as such a rare moment of showing something close to affection could be ruined.

So instead Stiles just rolled his shoulders back, and felt some weird wave of confidence buzzing inside him, like he had just connected his spiritual side, which assured him he would do it this time, and that all he had to do is just make a move.

He took in a deep, boosting breath, and struck with the Hanbō’s towards Finstock, who blocked it easily with his forearm. Under the same breath, Stiles pulled it back, and then raised the staff above his shoulder line to hit his opponent’s side- a movement that was stopped once again, only this time Stiles rolled the Hanbō on the blocking arm so it came under the hollowed part at the opposite side of the elbow and then slid it under the armpit, forcing the entire arm to be trapped behind Coach’s back- then retrieving the weapon for a quick thrust  to the ribs, while keeping his free hand above it to avoid the other hand to get to it.

Coach curled up on his knees, hugging his abdomen and groaning.

Stiles gaped above him, not believing he actually succeeded in something. He knew the moves were his own – it was a strategy he had always believed in: making the rival get used to one thing, just to eventually alter it at the last second in order to disarm him and strike as soon as that happened – but it was like something else led him as well, swimming through his veins and making his body forgetting about his natural clumsiness for a few seconds in favor of smooth moves, just like his brain order it to do.

Where was this during practice today?

He was shaken out of his thoughts only when Finstock released yet another suffering sound out of his mouth. He was searching for the proper words to apologize, when the ached man raised his hand in a gesture that stopped him before he could say anything.

“Why… do I never… learn from my mistakes,” he murmured between grunts. “The smartass ones… are always the most… _dangerous_. I knew… you have… something in you, you little demon. Maybe tiny, but you’re not… Greenberg, so there’s… always some hope.”

Stiles let go of his hold of the Hanbō and helped him to stand up. A hand was still on Coach’s stomach, but he looked like he was not far to overcome on the pain entirely.

“So, we're going with the bat, right?” Stiles asked hopefully. “This Hanbō was nice and all, but it’s a little bit big for me and -- “

“ -- A baseball bat is painful, but not meant for a _combat_ , you idiot. And since you just proved to definitely not be a lost case, I’m still gonna train ya some martial arts and how to use other weapons, so you won’t be limited to only one type. I try to make a warrior out of you, after all. But if you keep those fighting skills on board, I may convince to get you a proper mace.”

A mace was still close enough. Stiles fist-pumped with victory, almost doing a whole celebration dance before stopping at the sight of the coach's glare. He cleared his throat, stretching his shirt uncomfortably.

“So that was enough for today, I hoped for something better, I have to admit, so you better prepare yourself for tomorrow, when we start the real thing.”

Stiles nodded. “Roger that. See ya tomorrow.”

“Hey, where the hell you think you're going?" The Coach called after him when he turned his back. “I never said you're dismissed!"

Stiles turned on his heels. "What? But I thought we finished. Like, you didn't say anything -– “

“ -– We can’t just _leave_ this box out in the open, right? And besides, I was serious about not having anyone to help me with my equipment, now that Greenberg has something other than his brain broken, thanks the Deities.” Strangely enough, Finstock actually looked up at the sky while saying the last part, which did not help Stiles feel any less unpleased.

Stiles made a disgruntled sound, but did not argue and went to the chest, swearing quietly to himself about his bad luck of having immense strength as a power.

-

Stiles wanted to call Derek as soon as he got home, to have a few words with him about making Stiles spending his precious afternoon time having Coach Finstock come down on him more times in one hour than he had had under the entire year -–  which is _a lot_  -– and even doing chores for him although it was clearly out of the deal. Once he took one glance at his phone, though, that was when he recalled that there was no way he would answer him anyway, like he refused to do so when he tried to reach him about Boyd and Erica.

During the first few weeks after the last seeing Derek, Stiles had tried looking for him. He could not do anything on his own as the Sheriff had already covered any possible area in search for unfounded clues, and what was left of the Argents could not possibly had something to do with that this time, according to Scott’s talk with Allison- which was leaving only Derek. He knew that Derek would not get away too far from his property unless he knew for sure where to find them – which Stiles doubted he was able to know by himself –  and so, at first, he went to Derek’s family's old house every evening that he could.

Scott refused to help him, claiming Derek would know to seek their help if they had been really kidnapped and not just ran away from him; but Stiles knew that it only meant that the situation was only not that bad _as far as he knew_. Two Betas on the run without him knowing it for sure was definitely not something that Derek could be indifferent about, and for a good reason. Scott still insisted they should stay out of this one, let Derek take care of his own pack’s business as long as he can, and only agreed to tell Stiles that the Alpha had left his old house, and moved to live in a subway car for some time now.

Stiles went there on the weekend right afterwards to check the place for clues, but also prepared himself to camp there all the way until Sunday’s evening to finally be able to demand an explanation from him. Derek had never showed up, though, and after a couple more random visits there during the next couple of weeks- Stiles could not deny anymore that Derek would never show up over there.

He kept leaving voice mails on Derek's phone until it was full, and sent multiple texts- none of which were ever answered, not even those which were sent from Scott's phone. Since Derek was an illegally tenant on both places he stayed at until now – alright, Stiles had to call it by its name: being a homeless who spent his entire money on a _Camaro_ – he was not surprised to not be able to find him in the Beacon Hills’ records.

Seeking other people’s help turned his hopes down as well: Danny refused to help him track Derek's phone, not even if Stiles would convince this cousin Miguel of his to date him; At the police station he was answered with a raised eyebrow, as it was only natural for them that Derek would leave the town as suddenly as he returned, and without telling anybody about it; Whenever Stiles tried to talk about it with Finstock, he used his whistle until Stiles was shut down. He was angry with the latter for that, and did not understand how could he ignore the disappearance of two students, one of them a part of the Lacrosse team- but he insisted to stick to the same line of thought Scott had.

He had just started to think that maybe something happened to Derek, when he return to his home one day to not finding the bat leaning on the wall, just under his window, where he always kept it.

He did not have a real use of it nowadays- he just liked to train on the motions he was taught at practice every now and then. Recently, once in a while recently became every day, and unless someone played with his memory- there was no reason to not find the bat at its place.

His room and the rest of his house was empty of evidence of burglary, or anything else missing. His mother’s old jewelry was still there, and he did not want to make his Father worry for no reason. He called Scott, who claimed his Mother had a night shift and was asleep until very recently, and had not mentioned her bat lately.

But it did not make sense; who else would have a reason to only steal the bat instead of his laptop for example, knowing what it meant to him? Derek knew about his training, but there was no way he could know that Stiles planned to use the bat for fighting.

Unless he _had_ talked with Finstock, or even had watched him from afar as he had been training, at least for part of the time. But how the hell had he had a time for _that_ , whatever stupid reason he had for doing so anyway, and not to reply to all the messages Stiles had left for him? Seriously, what was wrong with that guy?

Obviously, he could not confront Derek about all that until he would show up again, and with nothing else to do about it, he groaned all the way to the shower, hoping Ms. McCall would accept the loss of her bat with understanding.

-

He was startled to consciousness from his afternoon nap on the couch by a knocking on the entry door. It was the last day of school, and he was trying to have some lazy time in front of the television to spoil himself with lazing around, after being told by Coach Finstock earlier about his plan of a special and much harder training schedule for him for the summer vacation.

He was deep into this daily after-school routine: one hour working out, following by one more of changing combat lessons, which always included stick fighting teaching and material arts. He felt himself slowly getting better, and developing some actual helpful skills that could not be denied now even by a paranoid like Scott.

But of course, even on the very day he finally had no school the day afterwards to think about, he still was not allowed by the universe to let himself zone out after the daily training, like he had dreamed to do for so long now, because that would just be _too much_ to ask from the Deities of fate- if they indeed existed like Derek insisted.

And what do you know- at the door stood no other than the said hardcore Greek mythology fan himself. Fortunately, the sight of him standing in his doorway for a chance was enough to get rid of what was left of his sleepiness. He was disappointed, though, that Derek did not look as awkward as Stiles wanted him to be while doing something which was under his Werewolf dignity- like coming to someone's place in a humanly, polite way.

Instead, he looked mostly tired, less out of lack of sleep and more of emotional exhaustion. Even after so long of being enraged with him, the it still clenched Stiles’ heart to finally witness how affected Derek was by the worrisome absence of his Betas. Not that he was sure if it was still right to refer to them that way, though, as they were not seen by his side anymore even before being taken by Gerard, unlike Isaac, but if Stiles was in Derek’s place, that would had driven him even more to look for them.

“Good thing you finally grew out of your old fear of stairs,” Stiles noted sardonically. As much as his heart went out for him, Stiles was not ready to just let him in so easily for whatever that he wanted, refusing to accept their meetings to continue being under Derek’s terms. “That’s why you never used the door before, right?”

“I thought it will be more appropriate this time, given what I came to ask you for,” Derek replied drily to him, and the way he ignored his hatred for Stiles’ jokes showed more than anything in what degree of a bad condition he was.

“Are you sure it’s not because you sensed my Father isn’t home and that I wasn’t in my room, where the window is unlocked?” Stiles continued to ignore his misery, partly because of his own bitterness but also behaving for Derek’s sake like he did not notice it. “But I _am_ approved the little progress you have here. Step by step you’ll eventually reach to the point where no one will be able to tell of your cave instincts. At least they taught you nicely from young age not to sniff people in forbidden places so you’re already less awkward than you could be.”

Derek made it looked like it took everything in him not to remark about it, since he knew it could affect Stiles’ agreement to assist him. As much as Stiles wanted to use it for his advantage, he was afraid as well that Derek would disappear again, regretting coming all the way here to possibly ask for his help with Erica and Boyd- and so he rolled his eyes to show he was done with the jokes for now.

“Just shoot it already, what you came here for?”

Derek did not try to hide the effect of the weight of the subject on him. “Recently I was in the right way to track them, but it turned out I was misled. Now that I’m out of leads I have no other choice, even though you’re still –- “

Stiles raised his hand to stop him, breathing more deeply than necessary through his nose. “If you say _one word_ about figuring the story behind my power, I’m going to give you a moment of a not-so-nice healing session where I’ll slam the door on your face, and send you right back home crying in shame, and regretting the moment you stole my bat.”

Now it was Derek’s turn to look surprise at Stiles’ words. “I didn’t steal it. I took it away so you won’t be stupid enough to ever actually use it, and I brought you something better.”

“Taking away my stuff and replacing it with something better?” Stiles parroted him with disbelief. “That’s an abuse right there, just so you know. And don't think you’ve bought me or that I owe you anything just because you pay for Coach to train me and got me -– “

He went silent for a moment as Derek gestured to the thing he was holding in his hand, raising his brows pointedly.

The object was similar to a professional baseball bat only in its shape and length; instead of smooth wood, the material still had the dark patterns of a tree. It did not exactly look like something that was made for any kind of use at all, but something that was personally crafted for someone as a gift. Not that Stiles would thank Derek for it even if it was, anyway.

“That’s nothing like my bat,” Stiles frowned at it, confused.

“No, it's a concealed spiked club, some type of baton. It was made smaller to look as similar as possible to an ordinary Baseball bat instead of a club so you can carry it around, and the spikes themselves are hidden and made of steel.” And as in his way to say _you're welcome_ , Derek added, “try to not hurt yourself more than usual with it.”

Stiles sarcastically laughed at that, and was handed the bat –- because yes, if Derek wanted Stiles to use it, then he had the right to refer to it as a _bat_  -– by Derek.

He tested it in his hands: it was covered by lacquer, so it felt the same as a typical bat, though it was somehow heavier and thicker. while eventually letting Derek into the house without even noticing.

“You said there were hidden spikes? Where- Oh, okay, yeah I got it.”

There was a little circle on the grip handle, which black, big spikes stuck out immediately once it was pushed by Stiles. The spikes were so sharp that as Stiles throw the weapon away out of shock- a crack was formed on the window just by a very slight hit of the them on it.

“Guess I brought it too soon, after all.” Derek murmured behind him –- after Stiles let him in without noticing –- and Stiles turned around to find him pinching the bridge of his nose.

Stiles was glad for his comment, as it pulled out all the anger and frustration he held inside against him for more than a month now. Even if Derek was truly worried for Erica and Boyd’s wellbeing, he still had to be scolded out of the way he thought it was right to act.

He burst out as soon as he closed the door behind him.

“You’re _not_ the one to decide whether I’m ready or not and for what, it’s not worth the waiting anyway. I proved you at the pool that even when I’m not qualified, I can still save your ass and be useful, and I’ve trained enough to do this for them as well. You either let me in this, now or we’re done talking ever again.”

Derek’s eyes darted between his, and he seemed to be taken by surprise by Stiles’ passionate reaction, as though he found it hard to believe Stiles was taking it seriously. What kind of image had Derek had of him in his mind- a kid who only wanted to do it for the enjoyment in dealing with the supernatural and solving riddles? It was funny if that was the case, as Derek himself was the one between the two of them who had to be presumed that the interest he took in the other’s mystery was out of curiosity.

It was about damn time for Derek to treat him as a much worthier ally than being saved as plan B, or even less than that.

“I bet that even if we’re done talking, you’re not going to give up on trying to find them yourself,” Derek pointed. “But like you were trying to protect someone who’s connected to your group of friends, you can understand why I’ll be the first one to stop you if you ever try to get to where they are on your own and -– “

“ -- Let’s just skip on that hypothetical part, shall we?” Stiles waved that subject off, rubbing at his eye as he was already tired of Derek’s threats. “Let’s just get to the point where you say if I’m officially in this or not.”

After a little while of further consideration –- which Stiles found completely unnecessarily, and almost disturbed him to say that aloud -– Derek eventually nodded. “You still have a lot to learn, but so does Scott, and you're not that weaker than him anymore, and for sure know a lot better than him on fighting by now.” His gaze moved across the room for second before he revealed, “and yes, I came to ask you to let me get you officially in, and help with finding Boyd and Erica.”

The way Derek put the responsibility on Stiles’ shoulders, along with the freedom of choice, unlike past events where he had been desperate for his help, caught him with somewhat of surprise- but he shook himself quickly out of this, as he started to finally be filled with relief and satisfaction.

“Okay, but we have to agree on some things first,” Stiles replied. “You stop bursting in at any time you like and vanishing whenever you get all the info you want. Better yet, you don't get into my room without permission and after knocking. On the _door_. And don't try threatening me -– “

“ -– I would have done it by now if I had the intention to do this. Is that it?"

Stiles was too shocked to continue right away. Hearing Derek admitting something like that out loud, when he himself was the reason he could not threat Stiles anymore- was it a risk he agreed to pay because he truly believed in the chance he would not need it even after Stiles got stronger?

“Um, you have to fill me in about everything that’s happening. And don’t disappear for weeks all of a sudden, at least not without returning to my calls and texts. Oh, and there's another thing- Melissa, Scott’s Mum, doesn't allow me and Scott to meet until I either find her precious bat, the one you had the nerves to _steal_  -– “

“ -– I'll bring it back to Scott, as long as you don’t use it as an idiotic replacement to a weapon again. Anything else?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know, treating me more nicely will be very appreciated -- “

“ -– Good. Now tell me what you found since the last time I’ve been here.”

Stiles gaped at him suspiciously. “So you _did_ come here for this! If it turns out you lied about letting me helping you, I swear to gods -– “

“ -– I didn’t,” Derek assured him, and for a change he opened himself enough so Stiles could see his honesty through his eyes. “But like I declared in the beginning, I don’t like having an ally I don’t know exactly what he truly is. The fact you don’t know what to expect from yourself is dangerous, and that’s the reason I pushed you to discover it in the first place.”

Stiles understood his motives, but was already impatient by the whole subject. He still could not trust Derek as well to not to escape through the door once he would hear that Stiles still did not make any progress.

He walked into the living room, lifting the bat up from the floor on his way, and sat down on the sofa, which was still a little warm after he had been lying on it for a while. After turning the television off, he finally turned to Derek, wishing to not be left disappointed once again by the end of the conversation.

“You were right- it _is_ a Greek name. Its meaning is a little unclear, but has to do with strength and power, which doesn’t give us anything we don’t know already, unless I was somehow _blessed_ with this name.”

After withdrawing the spikes, he started to carefully roll the bat in his hand. It was impossible for him to hide his restlessness, being so far from subtle even a human could not miss it.

“But there’s another thing,” Derek encouraged him, voice more patient than usual. He respected the developed distance between them, too, even when he could take a few steps without entering Stiles’ personal space- like he could smell the cold sadness and emptiness Stiles had carried with him ever since he had had a sudden flashback a couple of days ago.

Stiles gripped the edge of the sofa tightly, and nodded. “My Mother had this weird nickname for me. My Dad hated it and preferred just calling me Stiles like everyone else, but she stuck to that one, and like pretty much with every other weird thing in my life, I’ve never questioned her about that.”

Out of anything, this was the only thing that seriously made him consider the idea of having something Greek-related being involved his past.

Choosing Poland as the country of his Mother’s roots was just a too random thing for his parents to do, even before they knew about their son's curious nature; but this very detail was something he could not overlook or find an excuse for, not when it was so attached to his memory of being her son.

“Heracles,” he said quietly. “She mostly used to call me that every time she put me to bed- and I’ve always thought it was just a word, or even an adjective, for someone who you see as a gift to your life.”

He remembered the soft way she had pronounced the name with, that little special smile her lips had been doing. There had been other rare moments, where she had looked at him thoughtfully before having that unexplained spark in her eyes and added _precious Heracles of mine_ to whatever she had said- usually after he had been very whimsical and was extremely lucky to not have a serious or permanent damage.

It was just a fact he had grown up with; while other had cuter nicknames, and to anyone else it probably sounded more weird than special- it just had always been _his_. He felt embarrassed to be called like that around other people, just like other kids did not want to be called by anything but their name while others were present, so there was nothing really different about it.

It also had never mattered to him what was the source or meaning of it, or if it had at all; the impression that had been added to it- sometimes amused, sometimes worried, sometimes surprised but always _loving_ and _happy_ no matter what, had been the only important thing.

He could not remember feeling more vulnerable his entire life than that moment, when he had to share such an important piece of memory with Derek, and he wanted to hit both Derek and himself at the same time for it- but there was no point anymore to deny that Derek had been onto something.

“I checked it too, and there’s not any record of that name at all.” Stiles kept his voice emotionless and steady, or at least convinced himself he managed to. “I just founded that it’s formed from two Greek words that together means _Glory Of Hera_. Hera was Zeus’ wife, and she was the goddess of marriage, along with being known as the protector of married women- but as much as I know I’m neither that much into weddings, nor an active feminist. Even though I totally support it.”

Stiles did not mention the fact that his parents had had the ultimate relationship, and could easily win any other couple as the ultimate goal for marriage; they had never had any kind of disagreement and had never snapped, besides the playful moments that they had jokingly shared. They had never been too lovey-dovey in his presence either, expect of little kisses on the cheek and snuggling when they watched Christmas films together, and Stiles claimed to be too old to cuddle with them as well, but the way they looked at each other showed it clear enough.

(Now it was his Father to grumble about it every Christmas, but he never pushed Stiles away when he took the Sheriff's arm and put it across the line of his shoulders.)

He wished for Derek to not think about that idea and try to push Stiles to check for a possibility of anything that could make his Mother to ask for Hera's help out of all the Deities, as Stiles was really not in the mood to have a fight about it, because no way he would let Derek cross _that_ line, even if he had no doubt there was nothing to be found.

Not that this theory could explain how his Mother had known about the Greek Deities' existence in order to approach her to begin with.

“The animals that are identified with her are cows and peacocks," Stiles kept going before Derek would have a chance to think more deeply about the previous details, "so there’s always a chance I’m a Were-Cow or a Were-Peacock. Or both. Both could be cool. Like, it could be cool to be able to shapeshift into more than one kind of animal, not -- “

“ -– Nothing else?”

Stiles shook his head. “There’re not many legends about her, and none of them have something to lead us anywhere.”

Derek stared at him for a while, until Stiles returned the gaze, showing he was capable again to deal with his hard attitude.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t care,” Derek said like it was Stiles’ fault there was no information at all about himself, as though the problem could actually be that he simply did not look search extensively enough.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I get that you want me to fly to all the way to Europe, looking for tracks that will lead me to the remaining of my family, and somehow through that to find out about myself. Sorry to disappoint you, but I have enough to worry about as it is, I'm not going even if it means to miss my last opportunity to get in touch with them or anyone who would be able to tell me anything."

Derek seemed to doubt it. "So you're just gonna stay like this? The boy with the unexplained super-strength?"

"As long as I'm here to do a _little_ more important stuff like, I don't know, _protecting my friends_ \- then yes, it's fine with me, no matter how much it's going to eat me up every once in a while."

He was not ready to tell Derek about the ugly feeling of doing the training and researching behind his Father’s back. It was not rare for him to break his promise to his Father, only now it was different, specifically because of that subject. He was torn apart between the fear of bringing a dark fate on all of his loved ones, like his Father predicted, and the importance of doing this anyway. Derek pushing at such a soft spot did not make him feel any better, as he kept facing it even when he tried hardly to not think about it.

“If you think you can truly protect anyone without being fully aware of yourself then you’re dead wrong, but you’re right, we really run of time.” At the mention of that, Stiles wanted so badly to high five someone and hit Derek at the same time for taking so long to understand it, but chose not to for the better of it. “So get ready, I’m taking you to the Loft.”

Stiles frowned. “ _The Loft_?”

“It’s where I live now. But before we go, you have to promise me you won’t let Scott be involved. I want as less people as possible in this.”

It was a betrayal, no doubt about that- but it was necessary. He had too much on his shoulders as it was even without getting himself into this.

“Fine,” he agreed though a sigh, getting up to his feet. “I’ll go take my shoes from upstairs, feel free meanwhile to grab something from the kitchen and whatever. Just be careful with your sudden Werewolf appetite attack, it already happened to me once with Scott and it didn’t end good for any of us.”

Derek crossed his hands and- oh, he _really_ should not do that around Stiles without his jacket on. He always thought this gesture could be a weakness of him only around girls, but apparently guys -– at least jacked ones -–  could use it for their advantage as well. Not only it made him to hate himself for his Mother’s skinny genes he clearly was screwed with, so no matter how much he worked his ass off he would always stay the small one between Derek and himself, despise being in the same height, but the look of those gods-damn _biceps_ also made him-

“Stiles?”

The named boy blinked a few times in return, stopping himself from licking his lips. “Huh, what? Oh, yeah, you said something? Sorry, I didn’t -- “

Derek raised his eyebrows like it was enough to shut him down; it was only effective because it got on Stiles’ nerves, the way he insisted to communicate only by face expressions -– or more like scowls exclusively, in his case -– and not in the cool way like Stiles and Scott did it. He licked his lips.

“Right away,” he murmured as he hurried to go upstairs, wishing his heart hammering in his chest was the only thing his body was letting out as a reaction to the look of- no, nope, not thinking about it. He had Shoes to find, not pictures of guys who did nothing more than casually crossing their arms to fantasize about -–

He pinched himself as he stood in the opening on the room, after forgetting for a moment what he came to look for. He quickly wore an uneven pair of socks he found thrown in his room, put on the first pair of sneakers he saw and hurried downstairs- going back up to his room for a few more times to take his phone and a hoodie -– yes, it was summer, but he did not know exactly where he was going to be taken to and how much protective measures the Werewolf had against the heat coming from outside -– and one more time just to make sure he did not forget to take anything else with him, before he followed Derek out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/165903641201/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-2)


	3. Chapter 3

“You weren't just the MVP of the game, you were a hero,” his Father claimed while he was telling Stiles how he saved his Lacrosse team earlier that evening, aiming for encouragement- only his choice of words could not hit Stiles in the guts any worse than that.

If he only knew how lost Stiles had been only less than an hour prior- getting kidnapped and well-beaten by an old man, whose hunting skills had been enough in order to take him down, despite the super ability Stiles had; if he only knew how Stiles had been slapped by the other direction when Chris -– who had carried him outside the Argents’ house during the minutes he was unconscious -– had been telling him of his plan to return later to release Erica and Boyd as well, which only emphasized just what a passive, useless being Stiles was- thought that would hurt him even more than the physical wounds while lamely making all the way back to his Jeep at school, as Gerard was kind enough to not take its keys from him.

“No, I’m not a hero, Dad,” Stiles dismissed the compliment. He forced himself to look straight to his Father’s eyes while saying that, fighting himself from keeping to let his gaze drifting away. Anything left of his ego had been demolished that night, but he had to show his Father he still had the dignity to admit his failure to his face.

“You _were_ last night,” his Father assured him, a proud smile on his lips and a look of comfort in his eyes. Both Stiles was uncomfortable to receive, as he knew he did not deserve either.

Then the Sheriff stood up, tapping his Son’s back on his way out, leaving the room to himself so he could keep insisting to himself quietly: “I’m not a hero.”

One week later, while listening to his movies’ soundtracks playlist- _Spider-Man_ ’s “Hero” would come up. It threw Stiles right back to that conversation, and once it was clear to him he could not ignore those thoughts he turned to pass to the next song, though not before hearing the line: “ _And they say that a hero could save us; I'm not gonna stand here and wait.”_

Even more than the song itself, that line that caught him unprepared.

He was not a hero; even with immense strength and while always pushing his way to the frontline, he was -– and would always stay -– the research guy in the background. That was his true destiny, after all, no matter what anyone said.

But being any kind of a help is more than he could ask for, and so he would stick to it.

 

~-~

“Neat apartment, I mean, _Loft_ , you have here,” Stiles noted as he was looking around Derek’s new place. “A lot of space, but a very humble selection of furniture. Still, it’s a big move after living in that little subway car.”

“Interior design observation is not quite the skill we are looking for right now, Derek.” Isaac was leaning against the huge windows, looking like he had already been done with Stiles way before he had uttered a word. “Maybe you should just bring him again _after_ we ever find them, once you have time to redesign here.”

Stiles regretted he had not appreciated enough school time, where the sardonic teen had not even spared a look at him, let alone troubled him with his unhelpful opinions. Even when he had waited for Derek to finally share the search efforts with him, he had been too angry to realize Derek was not the only one he would have to collaborate with.

Unlike him, though, Stiles had the manners to not talk to someone indirectly, through another person.

“Oh, I’d really like to be taught a lesson from the master of efficiency himself, who always delivers the optimistic spirit that is so required for a fruitful teamwork. It's must be _so hard_ to be the only one to keep it alive.”

“Enough.” Derek looked straight at Isaac, as the one who it was his turn to reply. “We need help, and he was brought here because he _can_ be one. You don't have to like each other, but we are all working together without wasting time acting on it.”

“Oh, don't worry about him, Derek, he's not the real downer here,” Stiles reassured him as he was eyes wandered around the room, this time in a search for the other face he had expected to find there.  
“I can't wait until Mr. former Kanima joins the party.”

“Jackson is packing up right now. He’s going to a summer camp in London at the end of this weekend.”

Stiles nodded with a fake impressed expression. “Nice. Good to know you taught him well about wolves’ loyalty.”

“The first role of loyalty is being loyal to yourself above all,” a familiar, unwelcome voice came from the upper side of the room. "Being a lone wolf myself for some time now, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more in balance with my instincts.”

Peter went down the spiral stairs, looking as smug as ever -– as though he had any reason to –- and, for once, Stiles had a bigger urge to punch the guy in the face than to hopelessly try running away. He was still intimidating, and far more dangerous than Stiles at any aspect, but, ironically, Stiles felt calm as long as Derek was in the room with him. He would not try to play a shield for him, but since it was about finding his Betas, he had the interest to keep everyone uninjured and as _whole_ as possible.

“Why is _he_ also here?” Stiles turned to Derek, because, feeling safe or not, Peter was not someone Stiles would choose for a rescue mission. He had heard all about his reviving, and of how he had assisted Derek to learn more about the Kanima, but it did not cause him to forget about the way he had clawed Jackson right after Gerard had been defeated, probably attempting to capture the Kanima under his control.

“Yeah, he actually has a good point for a chance,” Isaac agreed, not flinching away even when Peter gave him a sarcastic disappointed look.

Hey, maybe the guy was not that bad after all; even with his insulting attitude, he still knew better than trusting someone like Peter to be on the same page with him.

“Like I said, we need _any_ kind of help,” Derek answered, though the reason his tone was impatient was clearly not because he had to mention that fact to them once more. He moved his gaze between them until they both eventually nodded back at him in acceptance of the method they were going to go with.

“So,” Stiles volunteered to throw them right into the issue they had gathered for, now that they finished with the small talk. “I'd really appreciate we start by explaining to me exactly _what_ we are dealing with, so at least we will have that covered.”

“I can't tell you.” Derek's arms were crossed on his chest with determination. He had no shade of dilemma in his eyes, like there was no problem with it to be a decision he had had to force himself to make, and it angered Stiles even more.

“You want me to help you _track_ them without knowing who _took_ them?” Stiles paraphrased the meaning of that declaration, with a little hope that it was all that took for Derek to understand the nonsense of the bizarre situation he wanted to get Stiles into.

“It's the safest way to keep you out of their awareness for as long as possible,” Derek explained, impossibly finding logic in it. “You may not drive your car as good as your ability to find information, but you are aware too much of its ability to bring you to places. And you _will_ do that when I’m not available.”

Stiles should have known; he should have expected right away that Derek would not that easily let him take a full part once he was trained enough. Of course he would so stubborn about it, always finding a way to keep things under his control, doing it _his_ way.

Stiles released a sound that was something between a weak laugh and a frustrated whimper. “So how do you want me to help you?! How am I suppose looking for them without knowing who those people are -– or if they’re even _humans_ to begin with -– when it’s clear you couldn't find clues like their scent or something they left behind?”

“We just need you to find out _where_ Boyd and Erica could be kept at, as Werewolves with only little of training. We know they are still kept close to the town because the Captures keep leaving marks with their symbol, but knowing who they are is not relevant to the place they hold them in, that's for certain.”

“Everything _helps_ eventually, Derek!” Stiles walked to stand right in front of Derek, forcing him to face his anger up close. “All the _point_ in investigating is getting as many details as you can! Even if the place they are kept in has nothing to do with their Kidnappers, I can at least learn their courses of action and try to figure and tracing them through the way they think!”

“You won't be able to do it,” Derek did not budge, clearly still far from letting Stiles convince him. “Isaac and I search through every single building in town every day. We need your help to find the hidden places we cannot reach or find about, even while knowing what they would desire. That and anything you can get from the police investigation.”

As assertive as Derek was, Stiles was not ready to quit either. He was there to find Erica and Boys after all, not to comply commands of someone who only let him participate since he did not have a clue about researching.

He knew he should hold in those thoughts though, because he could never stop being concern of the possibility of getting back to the same position he had been as just an hour prior, when he was even farther from getting some answers; only, now that he knew where Derek lived, the protective idiot could not escape any more of Stiles’ abilities to driving him mad until he would have to let him in again. The fact they were _his_ Betas did not mean he knew how to handle the situation all by himself.

“So I don't know if you insist so much on not sharing everything with me -– _unlike what you promised_  -–  because you’re worried I may get hurt or because I don't deserve as a human to take part in -– “

“ -– A _human_?” Peter repeated, surprised. “You brought him when he still doesn't know what _he is_?”

Stiles breathed heavily through his nose. It had to be genetic, this stupid obsession to play with his soft spot: the only thing he had never managed to figure out.

Fortunately, though, Isaac did not notice with Stiles’ panicked reaction to take a note on it, as he was too busy in staring at the three in a confused look- apparently not caught up with the other riddle that engaged the other two Werewolves, who were experienced enough to sense that something was off about Stiles.

“Look,” Derek sighed, ignoring Peter. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know, _when_ you need to know it. If you don't want to do this, I'm not gonna blame you. But these are the conditions for now, so you won’t be as involved as us in this as long as I can control it. You're here because you’re finally able to more or less to take care of yourself, but you're not gonna take the real risk like all of us, because once they hear about you, they’ll want to go after you too. Being behind the stages is the best way to protect you from them, especially when you still -– “

“ -– Why don't we use Peter's laptop then?” Stiles turned his attention to Peter, so he would not snap at Derek for making him discuss this when he was not ready to do so- not during that time and especially not with those people. “I heard you have one hell amount of info in it.”

“I know all the creatures I have listed, and you don’t fit any of them,” Peter claimed. “Not that I would be so stupid to let you touch my laptop even if there _was_ something.”   

“Oh, so I’m not even getting all the tools for _that_?”

“I didn’t encourage you to research again because I believe everything is hidden between pages of a book,” Derek clarified. “I don’t expect everything to be ready to be discovered in a matter of one click away either. This _is_ a risk we have to take when, sometimes, you have no choice but testing it on the field.”

“Oh, so we do experiments on me? That's what this is all about? As much as I'd _love_ to be the little lab guinea pig of yours, I believe I have some _other_ people with unknown identity to deal with. But that’s not even the funniest thing. You guys want to hear the _really_ funny thing?” Stiles gestured at Derek. “While having no idea what I might erupt into if I get my body too developed, Derek right here got me into a more severe training routine than what I can do with a quiet mind that I’ll at least be able to control myself, but _then_ start talking with me about my safety against the enemy, where I could turn into one just as easily!”

“During all the times your life was on the line, none of your hidden instincts have ever revealed themselves,” Derek argued, taking a calming breath like _he_ was the victim of that repeated debate.

“During all the times _your_ life was on the line, you threatened to hurt me, but when it’s your _Betas_ ’, suddenly you become a softie and worry about my wellbeing like they’re not important enough!”

Derek’s scowl deepened.

It may not be a smart move, to tell an Alpha how bad he was at being one, while he was undoubtedly unstable as two third of his pack had been ripped away from him- but it was something that Stiles had to put out there, to see for himself if it was just an opinion or a truth. He could not truly join Derek without knowing his reaction to this, so he could be convinced that Derek’s brain was behind his decisions and not just some imperious, control-freak motives.

Because even if Derek thought they had no time to discuss this, and that Stiles could just figure it out on his own eventually- Stiles could not continue with this, as though the training would be the safest move for his surroundings, including Derek himself.

After all, if even Scott was able to put words to why he thought Stiles acting on his potential was a necessary move- why did Derek thought it would be a waste of time for explaining him Especially now, that they have more important things to deal with?

“Dragging you into this in your weak form would only cause more trouble,” Derek replied eventually, “while back then, it would have caused trouble if you didn’t let me cooperate with you, and I had to use measures because you were too stupid to realize that. I don’t see a reason to fear your true power like you do, and without it you’ll just can in my way more than you can be helpful. I have to get you focused on what I want you to do, I won’t take that risk of what that information would lead you to.”

“So how my research skills are worth me being here, when you still think I’m just a clueless kid?”

“You’re not. That’s why only you here, and why I understand that you _will_ turn the Sheriff against me if I ever force you to do something for those who hurt your friends.”

 _Finally_ some truth was exposed –- and even a sort-of confession in fault –- after Derek was cracked enough to realize he _had_ something to lose if he did not admit it, though there was still no chance to reconsider.

Stiles could not believe how much facts and clear arguments he provided him, yet he still refused to change his mind and stacked to the same stupid idea that Stiles was not ready yet. They all had gathered around to strategize over the searching mission, but Derek just kept reducing his options to have a lead so we can save some precious time. What could happen if he at least told him if the Kidnappers were Hunters, another Werewolves pack or a Kanima-style master, only with _real_ Werewolves?

All those times they had worked together, all the things he had succeeded to do under _the_ _Sheriff's_ nose, and he still did not trust him to be able to keep it down and stay undercover? Was their enemy _that_ sophisticated?

And how could he think that, while instead counting on his beloved Zombie-Werewolf or whatever uncle and a scarf-wearing-even-during-summer Beta?

“Okay, just one last question,” Stiles started, as he just had to ask about that. “Why does Isaac deserve to know exactly who they are, even though he is also a Werewolf newbie?”

“As someone who is less likely to fall down the stairs while being chased, I see no problem,” Isaac answered behind him.

Nope, forget what he had thought a few minutes before. He may be smart enough to not trust Peter, but it did not mean he did not own an evil, apathetic soul of his own.

“The next person to start anything that isn't about Boyd and Erica,” Derek stepped between Stiles' glare and Isaac’s annoyingly amused look, moving his head between them as he spoke, “will be kicked out through the window. We talked enough, and now that Stiles knows where to find us when he finds something, it’s time for Isaac and me go to the next street we have on the list.”

Derek then looked at him in anticipation, waiting for him to confirm his agreement with the plan.

While there was no time to waste, he knew that only if he did as Derek said for a while, he would be able to convince him it could not work this way.

It was indeed a start of a wasted summer: waking up earlier in the morning than what a teenager should  be trained by Finstock -– for no reason, as the man who pushed him to do so seemingly would never let him join the fight anyway -– while the rest of the time he would spend doing a pointless research, without being properly informed like he should.

The next two months were going to be the most ridiculous and ludicrous time Stiles ever had, and all thanks to Derek- a guy he was sure he would grow to hate even more with every day that would pass.

And somehow, he still found himself nodding at him, taking the deal.

-

Through most of the following day -– morning to afternoon –- Stiles would check the town's documented history and construction plans at the library, and send to Derek pictures of any drafting or quote he found interesting enough to check. There was nothing overwhelming, though, and an hour after Stiles headed back home, Derek texted him they checked everything, to no avail. The following hour of surfing the Internet assured Stiles that no one had been interested enough to put up some newfound information there.

Stiles knew he could keep making a whole mess at the library while trying to find anything else useful all he wanted, but he was doubtful that the Kidnappers could be found so easily just by checking secret hideouts in the town, which was secretive only because it took time to find out about them.

There had to be something else then; something they were missing, right under the nose. The Kidnappers could not keep their work that much clean for long, where there was never a scent to catch. Hell, they could hide in the most obvious place, something not hidden at all- and they would not know because _someone_ did not let Stiles be there to think that out.

Not that Stiles was going to react to a big clue so blindly, of course- trap seemed like the next step, especially as the remaining pack was turning more desperate the more time passed.

He knew Derek would not listen to a word he had to say about this before getting anything from his Father- only by the sad expression he gave to Stiles’ hopeful eyes every day he came back from work, Stiles knew there was nothing to check about. They had already discussed the investigation countless times, and it was always a short talk as the Sheriff had absolutely nothing, not a single paper or anything else to look at.

Stiles kept offering to help, of course, just to do so, even when he always predicted the persistent refusal he got for it. No one counted on his natural detective talent anymore, so it seemed. Well, at least not at the natural talent _he_ would like to be counted on.

Without any new information to talk over -– as though there was not enough to talk about already –- his asks to regain another meeting were rejected repeatedly. He found himself returning to the ritual of going to the last _so-called_ frat he had last seen Derek living in, with no one to answer his knocks.

By the eve of the second day of doing so, Stiles knew he was too restless to stay on his own in his room in this state, with no one to ramble about it to- and therefore, instead of going home, he resolved his restlessness by patrolling throughout the town himself, with no destination.

His Jeep was idly roaming through familiar roads, until he passed by a building that might be just what he was looking for. He pressed the brakes to come to a fast stop – only by luck there was no one behind him – and then reversed and entered the little parking lot.

There was a “ _closed_ ” sign on the door, but Stiles knew it did not mean the place was empty. He opened it with a spare key he might-or-might-not had asked Scott permission to make, but by being the best friend of his employee, Stiles had to have the boss’ agreement to get inside while ignoring the sign, right?

The veterinary clinic was mostly dark by then, and the usual rustle sounds of animals being active in their cages was lower than usual. Stiles bypassed the reception counter and went straight to the operating room, which was empty as well.

“Deaton?” He called, but no response came.

Since Stiles knew out of past experience that he could still find Deaton here at those hours -– staying long after Scott already headed home -– he knew it was just a matter of time until the veterinarian would come back, and so he waited.

He had been there too many times to bother looking around, and soon enough his phone bored him too. He sighed, taking a chair and leaned his arms and head on the operating table.

Although the touch that woke him up was gentle, Stiles startled to awareness wildly; he fell off his chair, and the hand he sent in an attempt to grab at something almost took down a test tube rack on the cabinet near him.

“Good evening, Stiles,” Deaton greeted him with his patient voice, giving him a help to aid him getting up. “I’d like to help you with whatever it is, but I believe -– “

“ -– It’s closing time.” Stiles cleared his throat to fix his raspy voice. He noticed a little puddle of drool on the metal table, and put a hand in front of it as subtly as possible, trying to cover that until the man before him would turn around and he could find a way to wash it off. “I know it’s not an appropriate time, but there something I have to talk about really badly or I’ll _explode_ , and right now it can be a _very_ bad scenario, which is exactly why I came to speak with you.”

Deaton tore a tissue paper and offered it to Stiles, pointing with his head on Stiles’ face; apparently, he had drool left on his face. Shit.

“Scott went home two hours ago,” Deaton informed Stiles while Stiles was cleaning his face up, and very delicately put it on a certain spot on the table. It was convenient that he did not question Stiles’ ability to get through the locked door, at least.

“I know, I came to talk with _you_.”

Deaton stared at him with surprise, but stayed quiet, waiting for his explanation.

Stiles clenched his fist on the piece of tissue. “I remember what you’ve told me a few years ago, when I came here to ask you about my theories about it- you made it clear that you prefer me to find what I am on my own and all that. But I have no one beside you to tell me if I’m more or less in the right way. So, what do you say about the idea I might be related to Greek Mythology?”

Deaton did not take a moment to consider that before he nodded. “He said you would come here eventually to ask me that.”

Stiles _did_ have to take a moment before reacting to that, eyes widening as he also had an immediate guess to what the other was talking about. “Oh gods, don’t tell me by _he_ you mean Derek, please don’t tell me it was him.”

Deaton did not reply, but his silence confirmed it.

“Wow, I- Just _wow_.” Stiles raised his hands, as though he was giving in on thinking there were not any more ways in which Derek could overdo about that subject. “I don’t even know how to react to that anymore.”

“I think it’s very reasonable for him to try to find a connection. They say Werewolves were created after King Lycaon, their ancestor, had an incident with one of the Deities. Have you heard the story?”

“Yeah, among other common theories, when I first researched about them for Scott,” Stiles answered disinterestedly, as he went to finally throw the paper away. “Lycaon was involved in a group who spoke against the gods, and when he invited Zeus to a feast- he served him human flesh. Zeus was furious, and turned him and all of his sons to wolves.”

“That's right. And then a Druid taught them how to shift between human and wolf form, since he couldn't turn them back to be fully humans.”

Stiles snorted. “So Derek thinks I’m a Druid and wants me to find a way to change him back to human? I thought it was only the creatures from the myth that he supposed to be real, not the gods _themselves_. It’s cute, actually. But I guess it’s not surprising he doesn’t think I belong to something more hardcore.”

Deaton wore a conspiratorial smile. “Do not understatement the ancient Greek culture just yet. It still affects a lot of our daily life- from coming up with simple, yet revolutionary ideas like democracy, to being the sources of the creatures we know today.”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, my whatever-it-is kind being possibly-maybe-perhaps created by them, as well as what you mentioned, was definitely not one of their most glorious achievements. So sorry it’s kinda hard to be impressed when I’ve lived my entire life with the feeling that my kind is some design failure, which was on the line for their next generation of creators, and was thrown away once they found a defect, to only be found in the factory’s garbage and survive, unfortunately enough.”

“I wouldn’t hurry to get disappointed with your true nature so fast, when you just started to learn about your hidden talents. Whether you are a Druid or not, the way in which you worked with the Mountain Ash so easily means you have a special kind of spark in you.”

Stiles could not believe he had forgotten about that until that moment. It was always in the back of his mind, that excitement about that night at the club where he was finally successful in getting control of the situation, where he finally _did something_ ; after a failed Molotov cocktail throw at Peter, and all those other times he only had had his body to shield his friends with- _he_ was at the overcoming side.

He was angrier than ever with Derek that with all that idiotic Greek mythology talk, after Gerard was defeated and his head was clear enough to search about it- he did not remember so, as it was filled with other, much less interesting things instead. Like his freaking name had ever was connected to something so amazing like trapping Werewolves, blocking the way of even an _Alpha_ one.

So many actual mysteries to consider: Was the spark a source that only drove his immense strength, or the other gifts he had in him? Was it naturally inherited, or was he left with it because of the possibly magical cause of his birth? How else could he manipulate it?

Stiles looked down at his hands. “I know it might come from watching too many movies, but if I were a Druid, my spark would have been activated in more situations, like when I had to run faster or really needed something to disappear. I only ever had that strength that had nothing to do with anything. It’s amazing how people would actually pick that as a desired superpower- well, I mean, it _could_ be better if their parents actually allow them to use that, at least for fighting bullies back. Anyway, my point is that I think I need to find a Druid myself to help me change to my true form.”

Then Stiles froze at his place for a moment, and shot his eyes up to inspect the vet’s face. Not only he knew more than a couple of things about the supernatural, but also seemed to be aware of the uses of people’s inner sparks, with the way he eyed Stiles that day when he told him that the Mountain ash part of the plan was only for him.

And if he indeed worked close to the Deities, then it was no wonder that Deaton he be so knowledgeable about them.

He frowned a little at him before speculating: “Wait, are _you_?”

Deaton’s expression turned into a painful one. “I spent the last years in denial, trying to forget what I truly am,” his voice came out uncharacteristically shaky. “But I guess we both got to the point where we cannot allow ourselves to do so anymore.”

“What do you mean? What happened to you?”

“Ever since they proved their great qualities and loyalty by siding with Lycaon, Druids traditionally serve as advisers for Werewolves’ packs, a role which is better known as _Emissaries_. They use their great knowledge and wise to help the Alpha in any kind of obstacle- from everyday matters with their pack, to strategizing over rivals. The stronger the trust is between the two, the more masterly the connection between the two can become. I was one to the Hale's’ pack, the Emissary of Alpha Talia Hale, who did not watch after the Argents enough before they acted.”

Stiles was surprised by Deaton’s recognition of having a fault at something. He did not seem to Stiles like someone who would regret something when he did everything he could; though, with such a big tragedy, it was nice to know that he had a few expectations.

“So when Derek suspected at one point that you were the Alpha- did he just look for an excuse to get a revenge on you?” Stiles wandered, thinking of how the Hales only got closer to the Druid when it came to Scott.

Deaton shook his head. “Even though I’m sure he heard about the existence of someone filling that role for his pack, only his Mother knew my identity, and for a good reason. A pack with an Emissary is stronger, and that something that can attract a lot of enemies on its own. Talia had a big name among her community and was respected, and that big reputation was the only reason I agreed to it to begin with. I do want to tell him, but only once I find another Emissary for his new pack.”

“Why won’t you act as one until Erica and Boyd are found?” Stiles suggested, lighten up by the great idea he was developing. “He needs it more than ever, that dude just doesn’t acknowledge common sense even when it hits him in the face!”

A sad smile was drawn upon the Druid’s face. “Not only Derek and I will never share the right bond in order for that work right, but I’m afraid there are too many eyes on the newly rising Hale right now. Should the rumor get to the Captures’ ears, it will only bring more troubles to deal with. Keeping the two in hostage might not be enough for them in order to weaken his pack, and they’ll kill them both. I can help you with every question you have and report once I have any clue, but as much as it is painful for me to do so, I have to stay away.”

Stiles rolled his eyes with a groan; that stubbornness was too similar to Derek's line of thought, and he wondered who inspired who to think like this. It looked like they had a potential to have a good bond, after all.

“Besides, I think the job was already taken, even if unknowingly.” Deaton looked at him with a knowing smile.

If Stiles were not dispirited just a moment before that statement, he would burst out laughing much harder than he did after hearing that statement.

“Who, _me_? If I ever were one then it’d be for Scott’s pack. And aren’t only Druids being able to become Emissaries?”

“No, you’ll very hardly be able to perform most of the rituals an Emissary can do, but you have shown the abilities to be something similar to it- your capacity of expanding it at specific subjects under short time in particular. Once you help him find the two, he may find you as a worthy assistant.”

Stiles nodded, the corners of his mouth are stretched down in a sarcastic gesture of liking the idea. “Great, so let’s say I found my purpose in life, even though it’s Druids and Werewolves who are supposed to be best buddies for life –- no wonder Scott hangs out here a lot, come to think of it -– it still doesn’t help me with the real question I came here for.”

“I will only tell you this: Even though it is a place that draws a lot of the supernatural, I don’t think your Mother just happened gave birth to you here. Whatever fate that brought her path here will eventually be exposed to you, soon enough.”

Stiles sighed. “And let me guess- in order for this to happen, I need to _believe_.”

Deaton offered a little smile at that. “Belief is always a good thing. You should keep your mind open- sometimes it is the most bizarre things, such as stories involving gods who aren’t supposed to be real, that can lead you to the truth.”

"If you say so, Doc. Thanks for… _that_."

For the thousand time, Stiles felt sorry for his parents for asking for help from the presumably only person they had known to be able to give them answer, and surely had gotten out even more confused than they had arrived, just like Stiles felt at that moment.

As a kid, Stiles thought nothing special of Deaton, but even Scott’s trust in him was not enough to cover the question that had started to arise: How did his parents come to know him? Was he respectful of his Mother’s wish, or was _he_ the one to get that fear of letting Stiles know the truth?

And now, after hearing about the importance he put of the discretion of his identity, it all seemed even weirder.

Seriously, had something that man said ever was not sounded questionable? Even his excuse for not having to reveal Stiles the truth was dumb. If it was something that simple like the legends which kept turning out to be true -– like that of the Werewolves and of the Kanima, and now that of the Druids -– why had he never been dropped hints even during bedtime stories?

On a second thought, his case might be just _that_ complicated, that no one could describe it short enough for it to be under a decent children books’ length.

Well, that just was _sad_.

-

There was a rat on the porch of the Stilinski’s house.

Or maybe it was a groundhog? It was possible for it to be a weasel too; it was hard to know for sure from such distance.

Stiles would not have minded it so much -– well, at least as long as he would not get while trying to get into your home –- if it was not for the bat it held in its mouth.

It is worth to be mentioned, perhaps, that not only the rodent’s tiny head was strong enough to hold the bat above the ground, rather than just dragging it- but the spikes were out, since the bastard obviously decided to sink its teeth exactly where the button was on the handle.

Before Stiles could decide only how should he approach a possibly rabid animal- the little creature started to move away from Stiles’ house, with the bat still in its mouth.

Stiles did the best he could to run after it, yelling- but the rodent’s track was obviously lost very quickly, and Stiles found himself on his own in the dark woods.

How, just _how_ those things could happen to him, and _only_ him? Since when had mammals turned so smart to search for human weapons inside their house instead of just food?

No, he would _not_ start accepting events that went against reality like that just because his life was that random right now. It _had_ to make some sense.

Even if it was not a real animal but some weird type of a shapeshifter, how had they known to come into his house? Was it because he was seen working alongside Hunters, and thought he might just as well be one?

Either way, his hard work of playing according to Derek’s rules to his best of abilities was in vain after all, as he had just proved himself for not being aware enough to stay on guard at all times.

Stiles was hitting the back of his head a few times on one of the trees he was leaning against, when he heard a something being tapped on another tree, in the same rhythm as his, against a tree further ahead.

He walked after the sound until it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. He looked around, confused, until he saw out of the corner of his eye a little silhouette sneaking away. There, between a tree and a piece of a bluish-white stone, his bat laid.

 _Thank_ _gods_.

Firstly approaching to the bat –- carefully, as it could always turn out to be a trap –-  Stiles grasped the end handle with a leaf, just to be safe. He tested it as much as he could under the limited light, but the wood seemed undamaged, with no teeth marks on it at all. He then used the leaf to press the button and restrain the spikes, even though he did not see any salvia traces.

He looked at the stone, which seemed to be a crystal and did not blend at all with the forest scenery.

Was that being -– a weasel? -– an actual animal, after all, which stole nice-looking things to their collections, like ravens? But what could it find beautiful in a _bat_ , out of all the things in Stiles' house?

But then why repeating Stiles’ knocks?

Realizing he better not stay away from his possibly broken house more than he should, away from the territory of the weasel-or-whatever-it-was being, he walked back.

He was relieved it did not take him so long to find his way back home. The house did not have any sign for being broken in: the door was locked just like he had left it, the alarm was not set off, and everything was placed the same way it remembered it to be. 

Going to his room next, he put the crystal on his desk, so he could to look through the window to check how the hell could such a little creature get inside through his window- when the phenomenon that appeared before his eyes made him forget all about that.

The moonlight, which was shooting right through his window and covered the whole desk in a soft white light, scattered beautifully to the rest of the darkened room through the shimmery crystal. It was just too pretty to just be left in the open.

Stiles could not resist, and instead of checking more around the house- he started searching through the Internet until he found the crystal’s identity: it was a mineral called Hecatolite, which was also named Moonstone after the effect Stiles had just witnessed. It was mostly used for jewelry, but also as a cover to vaults, with a high level of hardness making it difficult to be penetrated, and so was proved successfully to keep the valuables safe from thieves.

Reading the last note, an idea was born in Stiles’ head.

-

“ _Stiles!_ ”

There was his name being shouted at him, then being much closer to the floor than he remembered and the too-bright light-

Three little heart attacks to open the day with; this was definitely going to be a hell of a day.

He removed the paper which was stuck to his face, as he slowly lifted himself up and tried not to slip on another, as the floor was covered with them. He noticed the sound of the printer which was still working, but his half-asleep mind could tell him what all the mess was about. His confused look was probably deeper than his Father’s.

The Sheriff just shook his head, sighing, and walked away from the opening of Stiles’ room.

Whatever the time was exactly, Stiles knew for sure he had only very little time left to get ready soon to leave to school -– which was even less pleasant to be around in the summer heat, as he learned quickly -– where his training sessions were at. He started to clean the mess of the papers in his room, just so no printed-documents-loving animal would decide to steal some precious information he stayed up all night to collect.

He was lucky enough to start where an article that he saved for the morning was at, where his Father’s picture appeared.

Suddenly recalling what he had read there last night, he hurried to leave the room after the man in question.

-

“So I thought about it,” Stiles spoke into his phone as he was driving, close to an hour and an accelerated investigation description by his Father later. "We looked for places that could hide people in, instead of searching for those who can deal with _Werewolves_. I mean, being newly bitten and barely being used to use their anchor is such a stressful environment, the Kidnappers had to take the full moon into account, right? If the Kidnappers wanted them dead, they would not have done that by letting them go at each other. Not if they’re not _that_ crazy, at least. So what if, instead of using cages or chains strong enough to lock them with so they wouldn’t kill each other, they put them in a place where they could not _shift_ in the first place?"

“Just tell me what you found,” Derek impelled him to continue, impatience like they were under a pressure of time, even though _he_ was the one to insist Stiles would not cancel his training. Not that Stiles felt a need to complain about it, considering it was the first optimistic sign that Derek finally understood how much of their time was wasting out.

“There’s this crystal called Hecatolite,” Stiles explained, “it’s a stone that captures the light and spreads its elsewhere like it was shone from within it, but it’s known mostly for having that effect with the moonlight. If Erica and Boyd were kept in a room that its walls were made of that, do you think it could filter the full moon effect and avoid them of the urge to shift?”

The other side of the line was quiet for a few seconds as Derek was considering it. “Possibly,” he stated eventually.

“I looked for vaults that their walls are made of it, and found one in an old bank that was closed a while ago. Beacon Hills First National Bank. It closed its door after a big robbery, and the building is completely abandoned, so if we imitate the thieves’ plan, we can break into it without being discovered.”

“ _Assuming_ they are really kept there,” Derek tried to remain skeptical, but Stiles let it slide as he felt happy to hear the slight piece of hope in his voice that he did not manage to cover. “Isaac and I will get there today and check the place. How much time do you need to find the plan?”

“Huh! That’s exactly what I expected you to say,” Stiles parked the Jeep, keeping to talk to the phone as he took his gym bag and jumped out. “My Dad has just shown me their whole plan, but guess what? I memorized it instead of writing it down. That’s right, Mr. Werewolves-don't-eat-people-but-I'd-still-devour-you-whole, if you want to know and to get the map, you won’t go anywhere without me.”

“Their _lives_ are on the line, and you’re playing a game of how far you can make me suck up to you until you agree to tell me?!”

Stiles smile grew the more impatient Derek got. Derek finally showed emotions after so long of being more closed up and tensed than he had used to be. As irritated as he was at that moment, in his case it was considered that his mood was uplifted, and Stiles wondered if that change looked as nice as it sounded.

Not that Stiles _missed_ hearing him being angry with him. He was just glad that they finally were on the same page and on the right track, that was all.

“It is _you_ who are playing games,” Stiles replied as though he was angered by Derek’s remark, entering the Lacrosse field. “You can’t promise me something just to not give a shit about it later! You still want me to finish today’s training with Coach, that’s okay. I won’t disparage your money. But it’s not an excuse to keep me busy so I won’t have time to get involved. You’ll wait for me to pick you up, and we’ll go check the bank _together_.”

“You better start thinking of better places to take your dates, Stilinski, originality doesn’t always go with romance!”

Stiles jumped at the yell coming right from behind him. As his trainer unlocked the door leading to the locker room, he hurried inside and walked as fast as he could to the corner, so if Finstock saw his reddened cheeks- he would assume it happened because of physical effort.

“Okay,” Derek seemed to ignore the comment, luckily enough. “Come here once you’re finished, but don’t tell _anyone_. You, get it, Stiles? Not even your Father. _No one_.”

It was funny how Derek make it look like _Stiles_ was the one who had the most difficulty to hold himself in that situation. Not that he was about to taunt him about it and ruined the moment of re-obtaining Derek’s faith.

Then he heard Finstock threatening to do a safe-sex talk with him, and had to end the call before having time to react to that in any other way.

-

Stiles thought that the training session was going to at least be shorter, if not to continue for only two hours like it had originally been during school days, before the summer vacation allowed it to extend its length – with Finstock keeping to murmur “Double pay, double pay,” every time Stiles annoyed or disappointed him – but in the end he would find out that Derek did not even want that to happen.

During one of his break times, when he had checked his phone, Derek's text had only told him to take a weapon with him before he headed out. Stiles did not understand from the message whether Finstock was aware of it or not, but he decided to not mention it to him anyway.

When he put the huge box of weapons back at the storage, after carrying it all the way back from the woods as usual- he quickly _borrowed_ a folding bow into his gym bag, along with some arrows, while his Coach left him alone to lock the box.

After a quick shower and lunch, he picked up Derek as they agreed. They arrived at the empty, neglected street where the bank used to be. Stiles drove slowly once they were a couple of blocks away from the building, as though they were just lost in the area. They tested the structure from afar -- as typical for public buildings, its outer design was of Greek architecture, which Stiles was not happy to notice -– as much as they could before Stiles had to turn and drive back a few streets away, so he could park with no one to suspect.

Derek stayed quiet even after the Jeep came to a stop, lost in his thoughts of whatever he got from observing the building from outside, without sharing with Stiles. They had kept the window close when they were near the building, but once the turned away Derek lowered it just enough so he could smell the wind which blew in their direction.

Needless to say, it annoyed Stiles that he did not give him too much time before he urged him to talk. “Well, did you sense anything?”

“There's definitely a fresh scent of people coming from that direction,” Derek continued to look outside at the building's direction, even though there was no way to see it. “But I have to check if it’s really from that building. Stay here in the car, and don't dare to go after me. If fifteen minutes pass and I’m not back here, or you feel like something's wrong even before that, you pull away from here right away.”

Stiles spread his hands with disbelief for a few seconds. “But I _always_ feel something's wrong, Derek! We're next to the bad guys' hidden place!”

Derek turned his head away from his window, but not to look at Stiles. Instead, his eyes were darting around between the different windows around them, as though there was someone to jump on the Jeep any minute, which got Stiles' heart to hammer in his chest.

 “We don't know yet for sure this is it,” Derek said. “And even if they do use this place only during full moons, and then bring them back to where they usually hide them at the rest of the time. The last full moon was two weeks ago, so that could explain why the scent is still strong.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the mention of the recent full moon, as though he would not be aware of it.

Scott may have shown no sign of difficulty when Stiles had spent with him the first full moon after Allison had broken up with him, but it was not enough for him to delete from his phone the app which followed the phases of the moon, or to throw away the calendar with the Jewish dates -– as they are based, conveniently but also a bit suspiciously, on the moon cycles -– away from his room. Derek should really stop expecting so less of him.

As the latter was scanning the area around them through the rest of the windows, Stiles' instincts worked with him for a chance, and he locked all the doors before Derek managed to reach the handle. He side-eyed him, but he did not care about the possibility of Derek fulfilling his threat of tearing Stiles’ throat out, which was surely still valid, even after all that time since the very first time they had been alone in the Jeep together.

He _had_ to make him listen to him, to finally take him seriously as someone who was aware a little more than what Derek thought of him.

“I'm done with that crap, alright? You can’t leave me here alone, with only a freaking bow to protect myself, when I can't use it properly even when I'm not trapped inside a vehicle.”

Derek sighed, going for a calmer tone. “You don't have –- “

“ –-  _Stop_ repeating this!”

Derek was shocked at Stiles’ outburst, as though it was not clear it was going to happen at some point, which made him even more furious.

Stiles was sick of Derek’s patient attitude towards him when it came to the possibility of Stiles not taking back his will to participate. That was the _only_ thing he appeared to accept from Stiles. He may have refused to help him in the past at times where he thought it was not needed, when his friend’s life was on the line, but putting the reason they were doing it aside- he thought it was clear that he did not treat Derek quite the same now. Not since their two hours at that damn pool, not since he had shared with him so many private details about himself, yet had never felt a need to make Derek swear to not talk about them with others.

He held Derek’s gaze like he could physically prevent him from looking away.

“I’m well aware of the door that’s always open for me to take an out, but I'm not going anywhere, you hear me? So you better stop with this, because I’m going to find them whether it’s with you or with my Dad’s Deputies. I’ll ruin everything if it means -– “

“ –- You won’t,” Derek shook his head with a knowing smile. “They’re like family to you, you won’t risk them for nothing. Just like you didn’t mention Scott because you think he’s too hurt by everything that happened with Allison.”

“You not being family for me doesn’t mean I think of you as  _nothing_!”

Uh, well. _That_ was not planned to ever get out of his mouth. At all.

He had no brain-to-mouth filter as it was, so why did he let himself to _snap_ for so long, even when he wanted to make sure that this was the _very_ last time he would have to clarify himself?

Now that he was released of Stiles’ hard look, Derek did another check on the outside before returning a hazel, deep kind of look of his own. “If those are your honest thoughts, then you’ll listen to me when I tell you to stay here,” he talked through clenched teeth. “You don't risk only yourself- instead of attacking me, they may harm Boyd and Erica as well to scare you, once they understand you’re something they don’t know. You can't sneak in without being noticed like I do. You better stay here, in the car, where most chances are that they won't find you as a threat even if they see you.”

“Oh, _ha-ha_.” Stiles did not appreciate being thought as someone that weak, but there was nothing he could say against that.

“Open the door, Stiles,” Derek kept the commands coming.

“Only if you agree to do as you promised and tell me everything, and I mean _everything_ , Derek, when you come back,” Stiles demanded. “And don't try to bullshit me knowing stuff can harm my safety. You know there’s no reason for me now to think to try to do something with that information on my own.”

Derek’s eyes pierced him once more, and for a few moments Stiles forgot where they were as he was drawn in their colour. Derek’s hold on the door’s handle, which got tighter and tighter, proved that Stiles did not imagine his desire to tear something out, so it was not really the right moment to stare at him in wonder at like that, but the intensity in them just lured Stiles in like a prey to Derek’s will.

Derek did not take a use of that even if he noticed, though, and eventually only huffed in defeat, and nodded.

Stiles wetted his lips as he unlocked the door, and Derek jumped outside within a blink of an eye, not giving Stiles a chance to regret. Stiles felt so a minute too late anyway, once the annoyance at Derek was pushed aside in favour of the fear that was creeping up inside of him.

Not daring to listen music to calm his nerves down and take his attention from his surroundings, he felt the weight of solitude at its fullest, and wished for better times where he was stuck in a car with an irritated Werewolf in quieter areas in town- at least in a sense of being empty of people wandering around and kidnapping random supernatural teenagers.

Well, not that those times were _that_ safe either, what was being stuck in a small, close area with someone who admitted to planning to punch him in the face.

Stiles sighed. He had become even worse at being able to calm himself, if his train of thoughts led him to _Derek_ , and not to more important things like the creature from the previous night.

As though in a cue, a bat flew passed his Jeep and startled him. Whether it was a sign or not, he knew he could not stay there any longer.

Besides, Stiles had saved Derek a few times already, and he was not ready to lose him for such a stupid thing like checking a building.

He turned on the vehicle without thinking about it twice, and drove in the bank's direction. The panic almost caused him to miss the turn to the street, and he slowed down the Jeep so violently it felt like it would have rolled forward had he driven just a little bit faster. And if _that_ did not catch the attention of the Kidnappers, then -–

Stiles' heart flailed along with his entire body as the door from the other side was opened, and it took too many seconds until his brain functioned enough to let him know that he should listen to the voice that was shouting at him to get away from there.

There was a lot of growling about irresponsibility and being _that_ close to getting them in trouble, but Stiles overcame his shock to really listen only when Derek started to talk about how he could not sense the Alphas being there at that moment, but that they definitely had to be more alert now.

“Whoa, wait a second, what _Alphas_ now?” Stiles cut him off. “Did I hear it right- you said _Alphas_ , with an S in the end for plural?”

It took a few beats before Derek answered, where Stiles could _feel_ the unpleased scowl of you-know-things-and-I’m-not-happy-about-it which was directed at him. “A pack of them.”

Stiles had to turn to look at Derek at that. “ _All_ of them?”

Derek very visibly forced himself to nod. “An Alpha pack.”

There was finally silence inside the Jeep, and Stiles knew he was not the only one to welcome it.

He let the words to sink in, rolled them inside his mind. A little optimistically, he appreciated the fact it was only about _normal_ Werewolves this time, where there was no need to start yet another obscure research and start translating an ancient language.

Nonetheless, he had no idea how could something like that be possible, only that it was clear that they would take methods as hurting someone’s pack only if that kind of alliance was proved to be stable and especially strong enough to go with it.

He shook his head as he was trying to wipe the image of a giant, underground factory creating Alphas out of his mind.

After months of nothing, Derek sighed as he started properly filling Stiles in.

-

When Derek finished explaining to Stiles everything -– not that there was _that_ much to tell, but it was still significant to understand the situation –- they arrived at the Loft. They agreed to meet at seven that evening, a little before it got dark, to go over the plan.

Stiles was glad that they would not implement the rescue mission during the left daytime, because after too little hours of sleep, training under the sun _and_ an emotional-challenging time with Derek- he _needed_ that afternoon nap.

He arrived much more refreshed at the set time, and they studied the bank robbery plan, together with Isaac and Peter, but the high spirits he came with did not stay up there for long. Stiles went to the mission with his wrist aching, after a punch by Derek, who was unamused by his demonstration of the little space they had to enter into; his palms bruised, as he had had to catch the railing of the stairs so he would not slip, after an attempt to repay for the punch had gone wrong and he had been chased by Derek; then was his honour which was damaged, too, as Isaac had been laughing his ass off at him the entire time.

At least they agreed for him to come with them. Well, everyone but Peter- who did not agree to join them anyway, not finding it worthy to take the risk. As though he had not left enough proves as it was to be way more useful while being dead.

-

Stiles puffed his cheeks and slowly blew the air out as he was waiting in his Jeep, behind the bank’s building. Derek had ordered Stiles to stay outside as a backup -– which had only been said to shut Stiles up; from the look on his face, he clearly he expected Stiles to not get out no matter what -– and went with Isaac to the alley next to the building.

Stiles hated the uncertain silence, and how he still had to rub his wrist because of the punch he had gotten. Derek had known he had brought a bow, so how could had he been so _stupid_ to hurt such a critical area, when he had actively been even more aware than the others of Stiles’ weakness, compared to that of Werewolves? Had he actually _planned_ on this, so Stiles could not take part in this?

If so, then Derek could look on all the money he had spent on those training courses and choke on it; next time a Beta of his would be kidnapped –- preferably Isaac -– Stiles would help _against_ him, too.

Okay, so he was not confident in his archery abilities himself, and rummaging through his bag had made his heart sink as there were only three arrows there, in addition to a broken one –- all looking well-used, although maybe they were just cheap to begin with, who knows with Coach -– meaning he was kinda screwed anyway, but not to the point where he could _ruin_ the mission. He honestly believed it was ridiculous to think that, no matter how sensitive Derek had described the situation to be.

As the angry thoughts were raving in his mind, the time kept stretching on and on with nothing happening. He was confident that there was no failure in the plan on his side; there could not have been any change in the building's design comparing to the map they had, since the bank had been closed a short while after the vault's wall was reported to be patched, and no one else had used the building ever since.

Stiles then snorted at the thought that Derek’s fist had not been powerful enough against the wall after all, and, being his proud self- he sent Isaac looking for something else around to break it with, instead of returning to Stiles for help. It looked like he should have had convinced Derek to delay the rescue mission to get that diamonds drill, after all.

But what if they both managed to get inside, only to find Erica and Boyd…

And then, enraged, they decided to try taking revenge and…

No, he would _not_ drift himself to those theories; his brain was really disappointing sometimes, making him thinking as though he was worried when he absolutely _not_. He felt that way about Erica and Boyd who were both cool in their own way, sure, but not for the other two. Why would he, when one of them was a total asshole, who influenced the other one to follow suit and learning to act the same towards Stiles?

If anything, he simply did not want them dead, for Erica and Boyd’s sake. He also preferred to not see them come back while being disgustingly not whole, thank you very much.

Only, at the point he checked the time and knew they should have had been back already with their two remaining pack mates if they indeed did not get in trouble, his nerves were _wracked_. Only the need to prove Derek wrong helped him to do a better job compared to earlier that day.

All that was until he heard it.

He lowered the window just enough to hear it better: it was an echo of snarls, which undoubtedly came from the building.

He froze for a second in shock for a moment before he could make himself moving; he hurried to take his bag, to better carrying the equipment that was inside, and sprinted outside to the same direction Derek and Isaac went to.

The alley was stank with trash that was supposed to be taken ages ago. Just in accordance with Stiles’ bad luck, the trash box was the highest thing around to rely on in order to jump to the rollable ladder which led to the rooftop air conditioning vent.

“Okay, time to see if Coach made an impact on me,” he murmured to himself.

He hung the two straps of his gym bag on his shoulders like a backpack, and then took a few steps back. Swallowing, he used the trash box as a leverage to rise higher to the ladder’s height. The tip of his fingers brushed it, but he was not close enough to hold into yet, and therefore fell to the ground, managing to roll a little so the hit was not that bad.

He did it a couple of times more before finally succeeding to catch the first bar, and pulled himself up with the higher ones until his legs reached the first step, and he was able to climb up the rest of it normally.

He made his way to the vent and slid into it carefully. At that point, he could hear the noise of the brutal fight much louder, which grew goosebumps on his skin.

From there he followed the noise until he got to the right place, not even having to recall the map he memorized. He was grateful for the narrow shaft that helped him getting down by only leaning against the walls, though by the time he reached the ground he had only had a moment to feel reviled before being on the verge of losing it.

Watching through the hole in the wall, Stiles took in the chaos in front of him: the space inside vault was bounded by what looked like a mountain ash, and inside of it stood two shifted Werewolves: a male with a massive body, and a female one- who were both fighting ruthlessly against Derek. Isaac and three others –- a brunette girl he did not recognize, a large boy and a blonde girl; _Boyd and Erica_ –- were lying in the corner like they were...

No, they were just unconscious, right? They were not- They _could not be_ -

Stiles' attention was drawn back to Derek, who was grunting with agony as the female Alpha scratched his throat –- with the claws that were on her _feet_ –- while the other one stacked his own claws deep into Derek's back.

Stiles inhaled too loudly at that, which brought the attention of the two assaulters to him. Derek was thrown away by the bigger one like he was nothing but a puppet, and his body would have hit the wall if it was not for the magical barrier to bounce him back, so he rolled on the floor until he reached the other corner of the room, right in front of Stiles.

Looking at this made Stiles feeling like the air was hit out of his own lungs; he felt helpless, like a kid watching someone he grew to know as an omnipotent suddenly losing in an arm wrestling.

If Derek looked like he could only barely survive that round, how could _Stiles_ cover him up?

The growl by the female Alpha snapped him out of his thoughts, and it rattled all the way to his legs that they were slightly trembling now. Even though he knew there was a closed square of mountain ash to thankfully separate between the two Alphas -– who were enough against five other Werewolves -– and himself, he could not ignore just how redder their than Derek’s their eyes looked like. It was also how both of them did not mind too much about being brutally injured, counting on their healing ability- and from their quickly improving state, rightly so.

But who had closed the mountain ash then, come to think of it? They were not an ordinary pack; they could not possibly have something like an Emissary, right?

“And who is our extra guest, I have to wonder?” A calm, chillingly pleasant voice of a man came from the through the door of the vault, from somewhere which Stiles could not see at his position.

The line of the mountain ash was too close to the walls, fortunately, meaning he could not reach Stiles, in case he was another Alpha.

Not that it mattered, as he was standing right inside the proof that he probably could break the wall himself, if he only wanted to.

Stiles cursed to himself inside his head for not bringing his bat with him, with which he could have had more chances to- well, not to fight back, but at least to _distract_ the Alphas and-

Ugh, who was he _kidding_? The thought was too lame to bother completing it.

“Very shy, you seem to be,” the foreign-accented speaker noted when Stiles did not answer. “Don’t worry, Ennis and Kali here still have plenty of toys to play with. In the meantime, I am all ears to listen to your arguments of how you _must not_ die, and all the things you can do for us in reward. Who knows, you just might be useful.”

Stiles knew that this way his only way to give Derek and the others some time to heal, if it even mattered anymore. He took a deep breath and stepped over the broken wall, and stood just inside the thin space between in and the black mark on the ground.

He looked aside, to the direction of the voice, where its owner finally made himself more apparent. The man wore sunglasses, despite the time being long after sunset; he leaned his hands on a walking stick, in a way where it was clear he was using it just for the show. The thought of a Werewolf staying blind despite the kind’s known supernatural healing made Stiles feeling on edge, while already being tensed just by the evil aura around him.

It had to be Deucalion, the Alpha Pack's leader that Derek had told him about.

Well, it looked like it was time for the one weapon he _was_ skillful with.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles finally replied to him. “I’m not one of those who beg for mercy. I’m actually more of the type who talks trash about my enemies, until they are too angry to enjoy a slow torture, and just want to finish me off quickly.”

“Oh, I’m all for those with the words.” Weirdly enough, Alpha’s statement sounded sincerely pleased. “I cannot wait to be amazed by your utterance.”

Stiles turned his gaze back to the two Alphas, who were still snarling at him behind their sharp fangs, impatient to get their hands –- or their feet, apparently -– on him.

"I’d love to show you, but I have to say all this beating up faultless people thing is a little bit distracting. Any chance to turn them off?”

There were a few movements in the corner of his eye, and it gave Stiles hope that at least most of the beaten Werewolves were okay. Even with his heart beating hard in his chest, he could never find it in himself to do beg for his life while feeling the exhausted, twitching from pain eyes on him.

“Be my guest. As the only one of us who is not a Werewolf, you have the power I’m lack of to break the line.” The leader did not sound too despondent of that disadvantage by his side.

A shuffle under him caught his attention, and this time Stiles could not resist locking his eyes with the source of it, who at last stopped coughing more and more blood with every breath he made.

Derek’s face contained more emotions that it normally would: surprise, wonder, curiosity, _fear_. His lids were almost half closed, yet somehow he still looked disappointed there was nothing he could do to stand in front of Stiles.

Stiles found himself annoyed by his self-sacrifice attitude, amazingly more than he had ever been with him –- which meant _a lot –-_ including his procrastination with letting Stiles help him find his own Betas. He _despised_ Stiles, and yet, all along, his fear of putting _Stiles’_ life in danger was at the same level of the fear for those whose lives were already at risk; not only that, but the fear for his own life was a couple of levels _below_.

Derek’s brows were wrinkled with helplessness as he looked around Stiles, knowing what Stiles knew without trying to check: he had nowhere to run, and even if he did, it would have been a useless effort; he had no ability to escape fast enough, and no one to cover him to get away safely.

Stiles looked again at the Alphas in front of him- or should he say _Super-Alphas_ , which sounded more accurate to refer to them as, considering there was no advantage of number against them. He wondered what made them stick together to a pack with one leader; that resistance of their instinct to dominant was something that probably was the biggest power against the lack of unification in Derek’s pack, even without the unknown, unrelated girl.

“Yeah, I’ll pass. I think I got the idea that I’m not very welcomed in this modern interpretation of a wolf’s den of yours,” Stiles said, turning back to the blind Alpha. “But I have to say I'm surprised you still can function when everyone does whatever they like. Unless that’s your secret.”

Stiles’ mind kept looking for a way to get to the bow; he wanted to hint Derek to somehow distract them -- not actually _fight_ them, he was clearly healing slower than usually -- by pretending to stand up and take another round with them, doing something just for a moment. He hated this, how his hope kept pushing even when there was no place to, when he recalled Scott being able to stop an arrow, even when he was wide open.

How could his instincts not realize he was dealing with beings of short-temper? Trying to test it would be the same as teasing, and he knew too painfully well what it could lead to.

“You can look at that like collecting artworks,” Deucalion explained. “I find something in them that I like, and offer whatever they are in need of so they would join me. I don’t make any change in them, nor do I leave my mark on them. I make sure to they are blocked from attracting dust so they would stay in a good condition, but most of the time I just let them _be_.”

Stiles nodded sarcastically. “Comparing ruthless murders to art, very poetic of you. But I think it’s time you let them go, take an advice from an expert that Derek is not the finishing touch you are looking for to your collection.”

“No, he is not,” the Alpha agreed, but then added, “not _right now_. But I’m sure he definitely has the potential to be, if he is willing to kill one of his own.”

Stiles had to struggle not to glance down and share a look with Derek- if there was even something to search there, and he was not just dumbly staring at the air at that point, that is.

“And what if he isn’t?” Stiles’ throat felt dry.

“Then we will have no choice but helping him to do the right thing. The more he kills, the closer he is to be as powerful as us. After Alphas take the life of one of their Betas, it’s impossible to resist doing it to the rest of the pack.”

Stiles did not understand if killing one of the Betas would really awaken a wild side which drove to do the same to the rest- but he could not just let this happen and see for himself.

Finally answering his impulses and shutting his logic side off, he stepped back through the hole and took out the bow and the arrows.

“You know, I’m supposed to be something too.” Stiles was facing the now fully-healed Alphas, but talked to the entire room just the same. “I’ve searched everywhere you can think of for a long time, and trained in an attempt to surpass my limits for months now, but I _still_ couldn’t figure out just what the hell I am.”

He assembled the folding bow with shaky hands, and set one of the arrows in place while raising the bow. He wanted to slap himself for not thinking beforehand about borrowing some Kanima poison from Deaton, but seemingly only true archers like Allison could be clever enough for that.

“But I’ve never fought before, not really,” Stiles continued. “And maybe that was what I needed to do all along.”

The two Alphas inside the range Mountain Ash were done snarling at last, but only to change their reaction into laughing.

“You really think you can do anything with _that_ , kid?” The female mocked him.

Stiles did not consider the possibility of having a threat, not even for a second; but the arrows would truly go to waste if he would not use them at all, whether effectively or not.

He gave the others enough time to rest; they better still have something left in them.

Before he spoke up, though, he could not help looking at Derek one last time. There was the comprehension in his eyes that there was nothing Stiles could do, or avoid of doing, in order to save himself. It was a cold truth, but both of them could lie to themselves only that far.

Maybe they shared a common ground, after all. There were a lot of things Stiles wanted to explore in Derek, if only he would have let himself open up for him; and for a brief moment, the disappointment of never having a chance to discover that was worse than the fear of death.

“I guess I’ll never have another chance to find out.” Stiles’ tone was quiet, almost a murmur, which was more than enough for all the Werewolves in the room to hear, yet Stiles knew it was somehow still private.

Looking back at the _bad_ Alphas, he felt that blinding fear of death aching through his whole body, freezing and speeding his blood at the same time within a too short moment. It was that rush of adrenaline which came next, an awareness of his deep will, his _need_ to live, which activated his urge to push at everything to the very edge.

He wished with all of his heart for this to be the moment to ignite something, _anything_ that could save the situation, and with shaking smirk -– it was even less than an attempt to smile -– he dragged his foot across the floor until it broke the seal.

And as if on cue, this was when the ground started to grumble- _literally_ grumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/166842520551/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-3)


	4. Chapter 4

In preparation for the upcoming new season, thirteen-year-old Stiles was in a middle of a  _Supernatural_  binge-rewatching, when the thought popped into his mind. It drove him crazy, with thrills of the need to blurt it out loud and share it with the world running crazy through his body, stronger than any random idea or moment of enlightenment he had. This time the urge was too hard to not give in to, as though he was a prophet with a vision which was burning like a fire inside his ribs.

Being a prophet was another idea he probably should think about, but that one was for another day.

He ran down the stairs once he heard the sheriff cruiser parking outside the house, and didn't wait until the door was fully opened before he spoke. “Hey Dad, quick question.”

“Quick questions are always the most problematic ones.” His Father seemed to be in a good mood, considering he did not grumble on Stiles snapping before bothering to greet him.

“No, it’s not like that, I swear! It may be a little weird, and looks like it came out of nowhere -– “

“ -– Your very motto in life is bringing things up out of nowhere.”

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” His hands could not stay at his side even for a second, constantly moving in the air nervously. “But could you please let me ask you just this one?”

The Sheriff sighed. “Like I really have a choice. Go ahead.”

Stiles almost jumped in excitement. “Okay, so like I said, it’s kinda a weird and awkward question, but I promise I won’t blame you whatsoever and -– “

“ -–  _Stiles_.”

“Yeah, yeah, right.” Stiles shook his head, struggling to refocus. “So, is the reason I don’t have siblings is that, um, one of you could not bring any?”

That definitely got his Father by surprise, but it did not turn him irritated like it usually would. instead, the wrinkles on his forehead deepened, and he clearly tried hard to cover his sad gaze by a soft, understanding look. “You weren’t born through a donation, if that’s what you mean. Look, I know you want to meet -– “

Before his Father could drift into a subject Stiles did not have any intent getting into, the teen clapped his hands in order to make him quit talking, and hurried to get them back to the point. “Yeah, but did Mum, by any chance, got pregnant by any…” He released his joined palms to wave his head in the air in a motion that stimulated something magical, “ _ritually_  way, perhaps?”

To his son’s relief, the Sheriff indeed forgot the unknown-biological-parent issue right away- only for his face to be turned disturbed. He then made his deep, disapproval groan of there-are-better-ways-to-rebel-than-taking-other-drugs-instead-the-ones-you-should-actually-take before he was about to turn away from there.

Stiles hurried to pull at his shoulder, making him face Stiles once again. “I  _know_  how it sounds, but are you sure she wasn’t barren? Or cursed? You know, anything that might, I don’t know- make her do something like selling her soul to the devil?”

Yes, it was something a little stupid to think just by watching the show, especially while he still barely believed in the concept of heavens and hell, but he had to start believing in the impossible if he wanted to know what brought him that prowess.

His Father's gaze turned impatient. “Yes, Stiles. If you got into the stage in your teen years of being an... Emo or whatever you call it, then yes, you can run to your friends and tell them your Father confirmed that. You know where my credit card is if you want to go to the mall and change your whole closet to black, now leave me alone.” He said the last words with his back already half turned, and Stiles had to yet again make sure he would not go away.

“Wait, no! That’s not why I asked- and by the way,  _goth_ kids wear black and love devil stuff, not Emos. Not that I know the difference because I felt an urge to become one myself- Ugh, would you  _please_  stop turning away and listen to me?” He struggled once again to keep his Father standing still, and he realized he was experiencing what his Father had to deal with daily, ironically enough.

“Once your random questions have a point.”

“This one does, I promise.” Stiles inhaled deeply, knowing that only way to make the man in front of him to speak directly expressing his motives, and tell the truth of the background to this talk. “I’ve done research, lately. You know, on the whole,” he swallowed, gesturing over himself, “ _thing_ , and I wanted to ask about it, not only for sake of knowing but also -– “

“ -– Whatever it is, Stiles,” he put his heavy hands on Stiles’ shoulders; the slim body was supposed to lose balance under the weight, but by some stubborn, annoying superior prowess, he did not, “with how much it’s hard to a curious kid like you not to- I think it’ll be for the better the less you know. I know it’s a part of you, and I accept you one hundred percent the way you are, but I still don’t trust whatever caused you to be like this.”

“I know, okay? I- ” Stiles stared at his innocent-looking hand, biting his lip as he closed it into a fist. “I’m scared too,” he eventually admitted, looking back at his Father, “and I totally get your point, but I  _have_  to know, Dad. I feel lost, like I won’t be prepared if something happens. And maybe it’s not that bad, maybe I can even use it to help others!”

Stiles had never gotten –- and years later he would understand he probably never would again -– a firmer look from his Father, as the one he got at that moment. “You want to help people- become a law enforcement officers. Stay out of this, you hear me? I don't care how much it eats you up, because not knowing kept us safe until now and this is the gamble I'm gonna take.”

Stiles looked away, ashamed. It was one thing to assume the possibility of a Demon being involved in his birth, but it was really childish on his part to assume his prowess could be used for something good, when reality was far different from that of a television show. He may have been successful in a scripted universe as that, but not in _his_.

“Always remember what happened that time you lost control, and promise me that you'll never check about this ever again.”

“I promise,” he guaranteed, although it felt much more like a white lie -– he felt this uneasiness in his stomach, like he always had had whenever he had to lie to his Father -– although he really wanted to mean it, to do it for his Father.

And he was right about the possible danger of the discovery, after all. He  _was_.

So even though he knew how bad he dealt with his curiosity, he forced his eyes to meet his Father's, assuring him while also ordering to himself: “I won't.”

 

~-~

So apparently Stiles had the power to summon an earthquake.

Until he figured out how to make it stop, though, he had people to save.

Fortunately, the whole Alpha pack took the earthquake as a sign to get out of the vault, and so Stiles could fully focus on helping the other Werewolves.

Erica and Isaac struggled to help Boyd stand, as he was in the worst shape out of the three Betas. Stiles hurried to throw the bow away and easily leaned Boyd on him, with his great muscle mass, until he stood on two feet, and the other two could help themselves standing instead. As it was a life and death situation, and everyone was in a horrible shape, he had no hesitation while using his immense strength in front of the others, and so ignored the wide eyes they stared at him with.

At the other side of the room, Derek picked up the unfamiliar girl, who was closed to passing out and so had to fully carry her. His gaze constantly moved between his Betas, a worried scowl in his face. Witnessing the Alpha  _actually_  acting like on -– after hearing about the rest of the Alphas getting power from their old pack in such a wrong way -– warmed Stiles' heart, fixing something that had been unsettled until that moment.

Derek's eyes met his eventually, and surprisingly their full of relief look did not change. Suddenly it occurred to Stiles how bad his last choice of words was, as Derek could have taken his death as another thing to be guilty about, considering he was the one who pushed him to train and let him participate in the research mission.

“Derek!” Erica called aloud all of a sudden, shaking them both out of the trance of thoughts.

The stone ceiling above them started to crack, and dust fell down.

“What are we waiting for? Let's go!” Isaac limped across the room towards the open door of the vault, and everyone followed suit.

The area outside was a complete mess; the floor looked dangerously unsteady, and they all stopped and stared at the Alphas up ahead: Ennis was carrying the blind Deucalion to safety between the many cracks that grew on the ground, while the female Alpha, Kali, was a little behind, carrying some belongings.

Stiles' eyes darted around since he felt something was wrong. The ground did not shake continually, but in short beats one after the other, most of them gently but sometimes so violently that Stiles had to constantly shift his weight from one leg to another so neither he or Boyd would fall. It did not feel like an earthquake at all, but more like the ground wanted to be ripped apart.

It looked like Stiles was not the one who made it.

And there was also this sound, this  _grumble_ , which sounded like nothing Stiles had ever heard. The more it got stronger, the more Stiles was not sure if it really was the sound of the ground moving or of a creature's voice-

His eyes snapped wide at the realization; there was something hitting from down below.

Only, before he could say anything, the floor shook so powerfully that all the mess of the objects around –- remnants of the bank equipment -– did not just jerk but was jolted a few centimeters above the ground.

“Lean over the wall!” Derek ordered everyone, and they all crouched down next to the vault’s entrance, with nothing stable enough to cling to.

Then, a hole created from beneath the ground, made the floor collapsed into itself like a sinkhole, taking into it all the objects which on the previously intact floor- including Kali, who did not reach the exit in time like her packmates succeeded too.

Nothing of that seemed to bother a huge, dirty fist, which was raised right through it, then palmed the ground, crashing it even more, in order to get their owner to the surface. Another grumble came right from the deep of the pit, this time much clearer and shook all its witnesses to their bones.

Stiles' heart hit so hard at his chest it ached him, impossibly finding a way to race even quicker; that thing was a  _Giant_ , and with the vault behind them already sounding like it was breaking down, they were trapped.

He felt how his whole body got too loosen all of a sudden, a darkness covering his sight- but was shaken out of it as Boyd shifted beside him, already healed enough to be this time the one to support the other before he fainted.

Derek moved forward next to the two of them, his hands now empty of the unknown girl who was put next to the vault’s door, and looked around.

“We're gonna throw everything we can at it,” Derek started putting together a plan. “Look for things as heavy as possible. Each time someone else will try to get to the exit,  _carefully_ and close to the wall, while the others are distracting that thing.” Derek paused for barely a moment to let everyone process his words before he continued. “Boyd and Stiles are the strongest, so Isaac and Erica, one of you will be the first to get outside. Whoever’s the first, be sure to take Cora with you.”

“You bit _Stiles?"_ Erica asked from Stiles' other side, shocked.

“No,” Derek responded way too quickly to Stiles' opinion, but he could not say anything about it before Derek went on. “We'll explain it all once we get out of here, now we have to look for things to throw at it.”

All the werewolves ran across the remained part of the floor that was still stable -– including Boyd, who let himself to leave Stiles, now that both of them could stand and move on their own -– while Stiles hurried back to the vault, zigzagging under the crashing pieces of stones until he reached the bow he left on the ground, and collected the arrows back to his gym bag.

He ran back outside, preparing the bow with one of the arrows he took out of the bag. Looking around, the rest grabbed different kinds of objects as well from the furthest area they could reach, taking advantage of the time, it took for the Giant to find his way up, still struggling to lift his weight up without expanding the hole.

“Do you trust yourself enough to not hit one of  _us_  with any of those?” Isaac raised an eyebrow at him- an impressing thing to do while he was straining himself, dragging up a copy machine from the area where the floor began to incline downward.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles assured him, “I beat  _Shadow of the Colossus_  twice, I can handle this. It's all about weak points.”

“You have a helpful info like possible weak points, and you didn’t think about  _sharing_  it with us?”

“Well, I don’t  _really_ know them,” Stiles was half irritated at Isaac for seriously believing he would hide such information from them, and a half at himself from being as clueless as everyone as the video game did not really give him any kind of advantage at all. “They were always marked on the Colossus’ body.”

“Oh, so is that why you’re so confident with yourself?”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Derek growled at Isaac, his voice very close to being an actual growl.

It was enough for Isaac to shrink a little by it, and he went back to focus on finding more things to bring- only he had to retreat once the ground was shaken hard once again, as the top of the Giant’s head appeared above the ground.

His braided, rust-coloured hair seemed to be made of actual iron, and his wild eyes were as bright as their ice-cold gaze. This time he made a sound that sounded more like a roar, and Stiles was glad his mouth was still inside the pit, so most of his bad breath was blocked.

“Now!” Derek yelled, and the whole group began throwing at the huge being whatever they managed to grab; most of the furniture did not seem to make a serious damage to him, though, as though even the heaviest table was nothing to him as though it was made of plastic thing, but his headway to the approximately seven meters ceiling -– and just how  _much_  tall was that Giant? -– was slowed.

While most of them were busy with trying to throw office equipment as hard as they could- Derek started punching the wall; Stiles knew he was not stupid enough to think they could just run away from this, but rather that he was desperately trying to break as much of it as he could, and gather more pieces of rock than what was already on the ground.

It was all in vain; and still, even if it was all just a lame attempt, Stiles knew that if they wanted to not let the Giant free on the streets without an injury to possibly somehow hold him back, until the Air Force or something else put him down- they had to do whatever they could.

“Derek, we’re out of stuff!” Erica outcried, panic clear in her voice.

Derek kept a restrained expression, and he turned to their direction, his eyes darting between all the teenagers in front him before he eventually made a decision.

“Erica, take Cora and be ready to run when we tell you,” Derek instructed, then looked at each of the three boys in the eyes. “Help me distracting the Giant to the right side so we’ll make an opening for them.”

He simply gestured them three to start using the lumps of Hecatolite which he prepared for them.

While they all turned to do as they were told, Isaac picked the biggest piece there was, and decided to take the task more extremely than it was set out: he started running straight to the Giant, who noticed him and raised his huge clenched fist at his direction.

“Run!” Derek called out at the top of his voice, and Isaac managed to dodge just mere milliseconds before the palm hit the spot Isaac threw the stone from, which was smashed into dust the moment it crashed against the Giant’s shoulder.

Stiles used the possible impact to have something to aim at, and drew his bow to shoot at the same spot on the Giant’s face- only for the arrow to be sunk completely into it.

The Giant was dazed by what he probably thought to be a thorn, and started messing with it in an attempt to take it out, which Stiles took it as a good thing. Isaac was out of sight, too, which could mean that he found a way to escape.

“How much arrows do you have left?” Derek asked him while staying in a protective position in front of Boyd and Erica, probably to make sure he would be able to stop them if one of them would feel like acting as crazily as their fellow Beta.

“Two more,” Stiles replied, his heart sunk as saying it out loud finally made him realize how little that was, “and, um, a broken one.”

Derek nodded, his mouth a hard line. “Use it too,” he told Stiles without any irritation in his voice, completely out of character, “we’ll try to find more poles for you to use too. Boyd, take as many pieces as you can and come with us. Erica, once we start it’s your chance.”

They both nodded.

Stiles took the two intact arrows and followed Derek. As soon as he ordered them to start, Stiles shot both; with the first one he missed the Giant, while the one bounced away once it bumped into the now confirmed metal hair.

He groaned, letting go of the bow which fell aside him.

He did not even consider getting the remaining broken arrow; it was time to be more useful as a distraction. The Giant’s eyes were interested in him anyway, recognizing the most problematic one of the three figures in front of him.

Derek blocked his way with his raising hand. “Stiles, what are you- ” he started, then suddenly lost his words and just froze, staring at a spot away of the Giant in shock.

For a second Stiles was glad that Derek decided to go along with his plan, but realized fast that the way he cut himself out was too suspicious, and happened right when a sudden light seemed to draw the Giant’s attention; it was then when he noticed a sound of a fire crackling.

Stiles followed Derek’s gaze until he noticed a light coming from the second floor -– a corridor which surrounded the hall -– and was surprised at the crackling sound that came with it. Then Isaac came into his range of vision, then getting close to the edge with a mischievous smile while holding the statuses of the torches, which were seemingly ripped off the wall by him, and weirdly enough were burning up.

“Hey, Rust-Head!” Stiles called at the Giant, insisting doing whatever he could do to get the enormous creature’s attention back to him. “Did you eat too much dirt on your way up?  _I’m_  the only one who’s been impressive around here! You have to be a complete idiot to be threatened by someone like  _him_!”

The Giant released an annoying sound at Isaac, who backed up slowly, looking around as he seemed to realize the dangerous spot he was standing at. It hurt Stiles’ pride a little that his ultimate weapon – his mouth – was not effective against it.

“Don’t throw all of these at him, we can use the fire!” Derek shouted to Isaac.

Then the Giant raised his hand, and if it was not for Isaac's Werewolf instincts, Stiles was not sure he could have otherwise jumped and in time, escaping before the whole level broke down.

Derek ran to Isaac’s direction, and Stiles knew he had to take an action at that point, where there was no one to limit him to only useless talk, especially as the rest was also out of available things to improvise with, before Isaac and the torches would be brought to the safety of the stable part of the floor.

Stiles ran to the Giant’s direction -– while he was preparing to shove the two Werewolves away so they would lose their hold in the fire sources -– doing his best not to step over the most fragile part of the floor that would take him under.

Once he reached him, he grabbed one of the thick, coarse to touch braids, and embraced it with all of his might before sprinting right back, aiming to pull the piece of hair as far as possible.

Only this time he was less careful, and one of his foot stepped over an area of a greatly unsteady ground. His body gravitated into an eternity of a pitch black space, and it was only thanks to the braid that he did not fall all the way down.

Every little atom in his body shook in terror to the sound of the pained cry which echoed through the newly gaped sinkhole; a voice which rapidity turned into an angry one.

Soon after that, the braid was pulled back up. Stiles found himself swaying in the air, until he was right in front of the Giant’s eyes. He felt breaths as hot as an oven’s heat being exhaled on his legs, which twisted more tightly with every time he felt it; his hands turned sweaty, too, which altogether just made it harder for him to hold onto the braid. Not that uneasiness should matter to him, as there was only death waiting for him, no matter what he would choose to do next.

The Giant did not speak, though its eyes had their own story to tell. Stiles lost the sense of time as all he could do was stare back at them, sensing the spirits of all those who had given their attempt in defeating the Giant- who looked like he was waiting for Stiles to start losing it, just like them.

He felt the fear all the way to his very core, but he knew that  _his_  spirit was different than the other, whoever they may be. He was not about to lose hope to get back home to his Father just because other did.

There was a change in the Giant’s face too, as though he was now ignoring the rest completely. He knew Stiles’ thoughts and did not like it.

“I’m hanging with a pack of wolves,” he told him, “dealing with all this huff-and-puffy attitude is a child’s play for me.”

The next blow of air coming from the Giant’s nostrils under him almost burnt his legs, but Stiles was not ready to lose that stare down.

It was then when a few streaks of lights hurtled from both of the corners of his eyes, and at once the Giant released his hold on the braid. The very moment it fully fell down, Stiles jumped off of it as far as he could, landing through a roll to get as less weight as possible meeting the ground, and ran back to the side of his allies.

He stopped only when he reached the line of the four Werewolves -– this time he was fortuned enough to not step over a breakable ground again -– who were preparing sets of metal shards. They let the fire of the two torches stroke the shreds until the pick of the spots being touched by the fire was turned to bright red.

Using the fire to heat the metal; Stiles was so proud at whoever thought of it.

Derek inspected him quickly, checking for any serious injury; once he found none, he returned his attention back to the metal, encouraging the others to not stop until their thirty seconds countdown was over.

The sight of the joined pack working together until the end, not daring to leave the others’ side, made Stiles excited. He wished he could document it somehow, just to show Erica and Boyd how awesome they all looked together, so they would never be stupid enough to run away again.

Boyd and Isaac stepped up for another round of pelting, while Derek was holding a few shards in his hands, and Erica held both of the torches; Stiles did not see Cora anywhere, and took it as a sign that Erica had brought her to safety outside, and then come back to help them.

None of the boys missed, which Stiles would have surely applauded for, if he was not so horrified by the fact that the Giant was less and less bothered by them.

Stiles looked at his bag and then the forgotten bow a few meters from it; he shrugged to himself, thinking that now it could be worth the try.

He took the broken arrow out of the bag, and stood between Derek and Erica, starting to heat up both of the parts.

“Where do you plan to hit him?” Derek looked up at him. Stiles did not like at all the way he looked at him as though he was one of their last hopes; he was still not very good with aiming arrows correctly, as proven by the wasted arrow from earlier, and they were taking the chance the metal would get overheat and melt by the time the Giant would stop moving enough for Stiles to target.

“His eyes,” Stiles replied; even if he got that idea from something as ridiculous as a video game, it still was the best idea he could think of at that moment.

Derek nodded. “Do you have the other half of it? We can still use it.”

Stiles had no idea what he was talking about, but as the Giant continued to grant ahead of them, it looked like they had to be faster this time, and there was no point to underestimate anything.

Boyd and Isaac went to a second run-up a little after that, with the shards Derek heated for them. This time the Giant managed to dodge from one of them, and to flip away another, and only the last two hit right into the base of the throat.

Stiles could never imagine being so reviled at hearing someone releasing choking noises.

It did not promise anything, though, and Stiles got more stressed by the moment as all eyes were literally on him. At that point, that they were officially out of things to throw, their last chance to find his Achilles heel and finish him for good was officially a freaking short arrow with no fletchings, and Stiles’ skills of a greenie.

If only Allison would magically appear from somewhere out of the dark, cracking a joke on them all as she would shot two arrows perfectly into both of the Giant’s eyes.

“Come on,  _come on_.” Stiles shook the arrow, as though it would help it getting heated faster, not that he really wanted time to move at all.

It  _hurt_  how torn he was between wanting to avoid his last and biggest failure of them all, to try protecting the others at any cost.

“Be careful,” Derek warned him, suddenly annoyed. “Keep your hand steady.”

“Oh  _really_? Thanks a lot, Derek! I’d never figure that on my own!” Stiles hissed.

“Shut up and  _stop moving_ ,” Derek muttered back angrily.

If he was not trembling so much by being under pressure, Stiles would have shaken the arrow even more just for good measure. “Is it because you're worried the metal will get cold or because it annoys you?”

Derek sighed, finding it hard to control himself under Stiles’ comments, even during a crisis; it was not really Stiles to be blamed for that, though, as it was Derek who started it while Stiles was visibly nervous on a higher level than ever, and did not find it in himself to avoid it. He knew Derek did not like the idea of putting his Betas’ lives on someone like Stiles, but how could he lose his patience so easily to Stiles’ nonsense?

Seriously, once they head home, Stiles was going to sit his stupid ass down to a little talk about the importance of having priorities. And of basic sociability. And of using his mouth for responses rather than his eyebrows.

“That’s it,” Derek shook Stiles out of his thoughts; Stiles suddenly noticed the colour on the peak of his arrow turned into a bright orange. “Now take the this and get ready.”

Once Stiles took the offered bow, Derek turned to the Giant’s direction- who was currently glaring at all of them, daring someone to throw something else on him.

While Derek having his back to him and taking a few steps away, Stiles mutely mimicked the way Derek kept bossing him around, as though he enjoyed the way Stiles did not have too much room to argue. He should have known that Derek’s choice of last words would be ordering him around.

Erica snorted.

Stiles did not have time to look at her to see who it was between him and Derek that she found amusing, as it was right in that moment when Derek began sprinting towards the Giant -– in a road he probably planned ahead, with the most stable parts of the floor -– and stopped once he threw the bottom part of the broken shaft.

Derek’s implosively movement was done with an Olympic athlete’s level of coordination, and it felt like a slow motion as Stiles was watching, all fascinated at the long muscles flexing just like a professional javelin thrower, only a few levels above that- of the supernatural division.

Stiles absentmindedly licked his lips.

The drool-worthy spectacle almost caused Stiles to miss how he succeeded to hit precisely into the right eye of the Giant.

“Now!” Derek called over the Giant’s cry.

Stiles took one more second to make sure he was aiming right -– while the arrow obviously not touching the limbs of the bow –- and a half more to breathe out, making sure his body would have no reason to move- and then released the arrow.

The arrow got just above the right lid Giant, making it impossible for him to close it despite the pain. He covered both of the eyes with his right hand, and the other he clenched into a fist, shaking it in the air. Stiles opened his mouth to cheer with triumph, when the clenched palm hit the ground without any warning- right where Derek stood.

Stiles left the bow and sprinted to the spot where the fist was still at, screaming Derek’s name the entire way there. He lifted the fist off of Derek with shaking hands, throwing it into the away with enough intensity to make the Giant lose his balance and fall back into the hole with no ability to hold onto something.

The Betas were surrounding Derek a mere moment later; Isaac was crying, almost whining, and Erica was close to follow- but Stiles was too disturbed to react like that, or to do anything besides staring at him.

 _Him_ , not  _his body_ ; he had had the same argument with himself just some minutes ago, back in the vault. There was no way he would go through this again after the defeated a freaking  _Giant_  that had made a pack of Alphas run away.

His pack needed him, and hell if Derek was going to leave Stiles to deal with all that mess on his own; not after everything they had been through: bantering together so much to the point they had started to  _respect_  each other, and being grateful for what the other contributed to their lives. The thought of not having Derek around anymore brought Stiles close to losing his balance, while already standing on an unsteady ground.

Stiles wanted so badly to punch him awake, just like he had done back at Deaton’s veterinary when he had been poisoned with the Wolfsbane bullet- but he knew it would not be of any use this time.

Boyd palpated Derek’s torso. “His ribs are broken, I need to move them so they’ll heal right.”

“No, we have to hurry to Deaton,” Stiles was surprised at how much his voice was shuddering, but could not care that much at the moment, as it was still impossible to tear his eyes off of Derek.

“The bones may grow into his lungs, we have to act  _now_.” Boyd looked up at Isaac. “Go check on Cora, we’ll take care of him. Remember to be careful.”

Isaac nodded wordlessly, although it took a few moments before he was finally able to leave Derek’s side and make his way outside.

Boyd dragged his hands across Derek’s chest. Every once in a while, there was a sound of  _click_  that was followed by Derek’s grunting in pain -– which meant he could still breathe, thankfully -– but the three around him made sure he would stay down.

After a minute, at last, Boyd let go of the unconscious Derek with a nod. Stiles felt like he could not breathe up until that point, before that little gesture of reassuring.

Both him and Boyd picked Derek up and cautiously moved him outside, around the huge hole in the ground.

They put him down outside the building’s entrance to let Stiles bring his Jeep. The walk in the fresh air helped him a bit to calm the last of his nerves down. He tried to feel proud of himself, reenacting the memory of the event, just to have the image of the fallen Derek flashing over and over again until he just stopped. Even when he made it to the Jeep, he made sure to take a few breaths to be able to focus on driving.

When he got back to the pack, he was grateful to have something else to focus on as he had to help Isaac and Boyd to seat Derek on the middle back seat, right between them, and lay Cora on the legs of the three of them. Stiles held in a joke on how uncomfortable they all looked.

Instead, he tried to appreciate their awesomeness out loud with the rest, because they deserved it and he just had to.

“I can’t believe how my life changed that much under a half a year, that I had just joined my Werewolves classmates in an attempt to take down a Giant in  _real life_ ,” he said as he got back to the driver seat. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to take films and games with Giants seriously ever again. They don’t deserve it after this ultimate fatality that just happened there, if you ask me.”

Deep inside of him, he knew it was mostly an attempt to distract himself through bubblings from the tension that refused to leave his body, even after they made it out better than he could have wished for.

There was no response from any of the passengers, though, and so Stiles forced himself to stay quiet.

At the beginning he drove with no specific destination; they did not agree yet if they were going to Deaton or if they were better letting the two to heal by themselves at the Loft, but all he could care about anyway was to get the two now-thankfully- _former_ kidnapped Betas -– who were actually only kids, far before the identity as Werewolves -– out of that dark area of the town as soon as possible.

Derek had never talked about the last part of the plan, of what they would do with Erica and Boyd after releasing them neither -– whether they should return them to their home right away, or let them calm down a little at the Loft first where they could take some time to think how should they do it, even though it meant to separate their family from them for another day at least -– but it did not matter as well. Stiles knew first-hand how much being in a driving car can be relaxing, and he planned to do so as long as he could stretch it before they had to stop somewhere. Only being close to their Alpha again had to do its own positive impact on them, anyway.

At some point, Erica left his gym bag which she was clenching until that point, and hugged his hand from her place at the passenger seat.

Stiles removed his eyes from the road for a moment to look at her with surprise. Looking for a physical comfort from him was something he did not expect to come from her, but he was more than glad to provide her with it.

“Stay stuck under the same conditions I did, and then try to not hold into the first living being that proves you're finally out of there,” Erica murmured, even though his eyes had already calmed and were back on the road.

Stiles did not say a word, even as she squeezed his arm and breathed his scent in. Something told him it was for the best that he let her do as she wished, on her own pace, and that he was not able to hug her back, like he wanted to.

-

In the end, when Stiles brought up the subject, it was decided that they would let Derek and Cora just rest for now in the Loft, while the three Betas would keep an eye on them around the clock. Stiles offered to be the first one on watch, since the others needed that rest more than him, but after giving a hand with carrying Derek all the way to the Loft, they almost growled at him to go away.

Which was very rude, if Stiles may say- but he kept reminding himself that even with his indisputable contribution in assisting to the rescue mission, they still deserved the time on their own. They had bonds to renew between them, now that they rejoined. Stiles would have plenty of time to claim his well-earned credit for their success that night later.

It was already deep into the night when he came to a final stop next to his house; the air was as cool as a Californian night in the middle of June could allow itself to be, which Stiles could only now appreciate after ridiculously sweating from both pressure and endeavor. He did not feel dirty more than he was exhausted, but decided he had to go through a shower first, even if it meant falling asleep in the middle of it; after what he had been through, he felt like he deserved it this one time anyway.

But as he stepped on the porch, a darken movement from the side caught his attention, and he froze.

Could it be one of the Alphas that had escaped?

With no arrows left, he once again he regretted to not bringing the bat along with him -– even if the bow was proven to be useful against the Giant, in hindsight -– as making sure it was always reachable should have been a golden rule by that point, that his life turned into what they were.

Another ruffling sound motion brought him back to reality, reminding him he should focus more on the present, if he wanted to be able to regret things in the future as well.

He cleared his throat.

"Hey now, let's not make any rash decisions here, okay?" He moved in circles around himself, trying to sense another thing to give him a clue where his uninvited guest was being at. "This is the sheriff's house, you know, hence lots of cameras and people  _looking_  through them all the time, and believe me I've done enough worthwhile stuff to give them a reason to never look away. So how about we'll make it just another nice joke, and I keep talking to myself like an idiot while you get away from here? Sounds like a good deal to me."

Stiles stayed quiet for a while, not making any other moves so the person had enough time to think about it. Eventually, he decided to take the continued silence as an agreement, although he knew to stay alert.

“Good, nice to know you’re a clever one. You made the right choice -– “

This time the mysterious being decided to expose themselves, making their way on the porch: it turned out to be the same animal -– a ferret? a mink? -– that had stolen his bat just one night ago. Closing the window before leaving the house proved to be effective, as it did not carry anything with it this time, yet Stiles could tell it was the same one by the familiarly of its stare, the way it was looking  _right at Stiles_.

That gaze freaked Stiles out, but he made up his mind that it was better to slowly try to get into the house instead of trying to shoo the animal away.

Shifting his arms as quietly and gently as possible, he fished the key out of his pants, not breaking the eye contact. He just entered the key to the lock when-

_I won't talk before you make an offering to Hecate Soteria._

He startled, yelping as he fell to the floor and who could blame him for the reaction when an  _animal_  had just  _spoken_ to him _in his mind_?!

Could Skinwalkers talk while being in an animal shape, or did the tiredness do its own?

Either way, after sitting himself up and taking a close, eye-level look at the... whatever she -– according to her feminine voice -– was, it was impossible to miss the intelligent that was reflected through her gaze, one that a normal animal could not have.

He palmed the aching part in the back of his head, so bewildered that he was out of words.

_Hecate Soteria helped you when you fought for your friends- she lighted up the torches for you, and made sure the fire was strong enough to heat up the metal fast. You have to bring her an offering as a repayment._

Hearing the voice again, Stiles dragged himself a few feet backward.

He knew Hecate was the Greek Deity of witchcraft and crossroads, and that her symbol was torches- which made so much sense, looking back at the dead end they had been at with the search just a few days ago, and with how everything had advanced so easily from there, just like someone had wielded a wand at all of the obstacles in the way…

No, this could not be right. This could not be  _for real_.

“How about I'll go to sleep,” he suggested, mainly to himself, “pretend that the world is not  _that_  weird and that it was all a dream, and  _you_ , whatever kind of a rodent that you are, return back to my comfortable subconscious?”

 _It’s a polecat, and I’m not imaginary_.

“A bold claim coming from a talking  _rodent_ ,” Stiles remarked, keeping a low tone so the neighbors would not hear him.

_Again, I will not explain anything before you prepare an offering._

“Oh my gods, it’s just like with Derek,” Stiles sighed to himself. “Look, whatever’s obvious to you is not to me. You can’t demand me to do something for someone you didn’t care to explain about, as though it had to be obvious to me as much as it is to you? I- Wait, Is that it? Am I the Harry Potter of this universe, but I can talk to polecats instead of snakes?” His eyes widened. “Wait, it’s actually like when he met Dobby! Are you a house-elf stuck within an animal’s body?”

_I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I know that you’re confused right now, but there are much more important things I have to tell you- ones that are related to you and give an answer to what you have been searching for this entire time. I want to help you, but I will not share anything unless you thank Hecate Soteria for the light she put on your way properly._

The repeated recurring made him roll his eyes, but something bugged him. There was something familiar in the way she phrased it this time. He repeated it in his head for a few times, until it finally clicked.

“Wait a minute- that crystal you left next to my bat, the Hecatolite, it’s called after Hecate, isn’t it? Yeah, I remember now!”

_It’s Hecate Soteria. Use the honorific when you mention her name._

“Not when I don’t believe you’re saying the truth about Greek gods’ existence, or that you’re not on  _their_  side, of the Alpha Pack? They locked Erica and Boyd inside a vault made of this!”

_Neither Hecate Soteria and I had any hand in your friends’ kidnapping. You have my word. Those poor kids did not deserve it, but the only reason Hecate Soteria agreed to do anything regarding taboo creatures as Werewolves, whether it was to aid them or not, was only you. It was only you who she had in her mind all along, who we were really reaching for._

She looked away, her jaw moved in a too humanly way, like she tried really hard not to say anything further- even though she did not even use her mouth to speak to him.

There were so many questions going through his mind -– none of them even about her claim to be able to give him answers about his identity, although the thought of that sent his heart racing in his chest -– but it was easy to keep his mouth shut as something felt wrong, though he did not know if it was just the way she talked about Werewolves being a taboo.

Moreover, the irony of the coincidence that Derek had pushed him to learn about Greek Deities, when at least one of them thought of his kind to be a taboo, while he also did not know she had some relation to the place his Betas had been kept at- was just hard to believe to.

Stiles shook his head, knowing he had to get answers for the sake of Derek and his pack, too, and it could only be done through cooperation. “Fine, fine. I'll make that offering, just tell me how to do it.”

-

Stiles looked at the turned-on cooktop, then at the half-empty bag of the loaf of bread on the countertop, and again at the awkward little circle of fire with no pot to put on.

Life could go that fast from top to bottom under one single night, apparently.

On his shoulder -– only after cleaning her legs on a paper towel, of course -– the still unintroduced polecat stared at him with anticipation.

Sighing, Stiles took a slice of bread and brought it closer to the burner, only to retreat half of the way there.

“As much as I’m happy to not offer a more traditional offering like an animal, so I might regret keeping pushing at it- are you sure the best way to repay a goddess is by burning up a  _piece of bread_?”

_The Deities like the smell._

Stiles tried again, only for it to end by another withdrawal.

He wanted to rub his face; It just felt so  _ridiculous_.

“But if I’m giving an offering to a  _goddess_ , who you claim to accept anything, then why do I feel so lame?”

_Because you use a kitchen stove instead of a bonfire._

Stiles gaped at her. “ _You_  were the one to suggest it!”

_Because you don’t have any other way to light a fire other than a match, and it works as long as the food is burnt up. Just do it already._

He sighed. The idiotic act she was asking him to commit was the only reason he gave her the benefit of the doubt for not being connected to the Alpha Pack, or part of another group of bad guys – as it was in the nature of the town to always have more than one to focus on -– since he could not imagine being asked to do something so amateur and improvised.

And, most importantly,  _stupid_.

He stretched his arm to the fire once more, and this time would make the bread touch it, if it was not to the polecat who stopped him.

_Hold on. Remember what I told you- everything goes as long as it is the better part of the food._

She gestured with her little head to the loaf, which had a side that was less smashed and Stiles did not want to waste as an offering to a Deity, even if she so-called saved him.

With a roll of his eyes, he put the first slice back in the bag, and took two slices from the other side of it in its place. Once they were thrown into the fire a moment later, both of the pieces burnt up completely within a minute.

“Thank you, Hecate- sorry, Hecate  _Soteria_ ,” Stiles murmured as he was watching the fire eating up the wasted toasts. “Your great kindness saved my life, and I'm forever thankful for it. And for being modest enough to not ask me to go to the woods in the dark to hunt an animal for you.”

He waited a few awkward moments, but the fire made no sign of acknowledgment.

“That’s it?” He turned to look at the polecat, skeptical.

_As long as you did it with a mean to it._

Well, he was entirely honest at least with one part of his declaration. Hopefully, that relief was enough for the whole declaration.

She jumped off of him back to the floor. After opening the windows to let the ventilate the floor which was filled with a burnt smell, Stiles walked her to his room.

He helped her to get to his table, while he himself took on his chair.

_Hecate Soteria calls me Galinthias, but I’d be grateful if just call me Gale._

Stiles was glad that she was not one to procrastinate but answer all the questions right away; although it also may be because of how reviled it seemed to make her being, finally having someone to ask that favour from.

He sent her a sympathized smile. “I know your pain. My real name is Mieczysław.”

There was a short pause, like she would have raised an eyebrow if she could.

_But aren’t you being called Stiles? Why do you prefer a nickname like that if it sounds even weirder?_

Stiles groaned, cupping his face. “Why do I keep running into people who have a problem with that? It’s… It’s  _catchy_ , okay? And  _way_  better than my real name, as if there’s something worse than it.”

_Sorry, I’ve never meant to judge. Whatever feels good for you to go with._

With all of the questions going through Stiles’ mind, the bitter taste he had after someone being skeptical about the wonderfulness that was his name made him choose the least comfortable one. “So, have you, like, lived for centuries now or something?”

Her short line of mouth stretched a little backward as she smiled at him.

_No, I’m only 68, actually. But you barely feel it while being immortal. 16 years ago, I turned into a polecat, shortly after I midwifed your Mother._

Stiles straightened up in his chair, blinking at Gale’s appearance, pointing at her. “You- My Mum-” He shook his head. “ _What_?”

_I’m Sorry, again. I’m telling you too many things at once. I’ll try to slow it down._

Gale stayed quiet for a moment, her black eyes darted as she tested him thoughtfully.

_You look a lot like her._

Stiles rolled his eyes and lowered back into his chair. “Of course you'd say that,” he replied dryly, his fingers playing on the chair's arms as he looked away. He hated when people said forced sympathy sentences about his dead Mother.

_She was the last human face I have seen before meeting you, you can trust me that I do remember her quite well._

“Then your memory has to mistake you,” Stiles noted, not minding of his almost aggressive tone. “She was the most beautiful woman to ever walk on earth, no one can ever be compared to her.”

_Indeed, I didn’t see her in her prime, but I can confirm that too. No wonder… your biological Father fell into her._

It sounded like she cut herself before revealing his name.

Stiles swallowed. “So you know who he is.”

Gale nodded simply, doing quick up and down moves with her little head.

“Was he there during the birth, too?” Stiles asked, voice still indifferent, even though his heart’s beats were getting faster.

_No, only your adoptive Father, sorry for forgetting his name. The... biological one wouldn't bother to show up to something like that._

Great, so his biological parent was a scumbag full of himself, that could not even be with his Mother during such a tough time for her, which was  _caused_  by him. What a surprise.

He was gladder for his active Father more than ever; one that, even during the worst of their fights, there was not even one second where Stiles could wish to meet his biological one.

But then it got him annoyed, like every time he thought of his Mother being with someone else that was not his Father, only now it sounded somehow more like she had possibly –-  _only_  possibly, there were still other options for how it happened -– cheated on his Father, as the date of marriage proved she had not gotten married while already pregnant.

No matter what the paper said, it was the same man who lived with him in the same house who was his true, one and only Father -– and not only because he provided him, of course –- no question about it. Whoever that other person was, he would never be forgiven for using his Mother for his filthy needs, and then leaving her with a baby she had planned to have with the one she had actually married to.

“I wonder if meeting Mum’s midwife in her current state as a polecat will be as big of a surprise for my Dad as the child with the unexplained power his wife gave birth to,” Stiles pondered.

_He wouldn’t be able to recognize me anyway. He was outside during the whole delivery._

“Why?”

_Your Mother told him she believed it was something she had to go through on her own. Although, once he left the room, she told me she doesn’t want to put him in that position, where there’ll be no one to catch him if he faints. I'd probably remember this delivery years later even without its outcome._

Stiles let a little smile appear on his face. He knew his Father had not bought that rubbish excuse for a second, but had listened to her anyway.

_She asked for natural childbirth, but she had troubles to deliver you. She insisted to continue despite the pain, and I still remember how, when I dared to suggest cesarean, she gripped my wrist with so much might, like she dared me to think of this again without both of us giving it all._

She sighed. Her upright ears on the top of her head lowered to the sides of her head.

_I sincerely felt sad when I heard of her loss. I’m so sorry._

Stiles nodded quietly. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the warm feeling that spread through his body after hearing of the way too familiar stubborn behavior. Even though he thought his Mother should not have acted so bravely, he could not blame her as he knew he would not have acted himself otherwise.

At any rate, from her description of his Mother, he was now more willing to believe Gale.

“How do you know my other, biological one?” Stiles asked, looking at her again.

_I was told only a little after that, at the day Hecate Soteria took me under her wing and explained everything. I know you’re curious to know, but you've entered into shock for too many times only this day. Telling you who he is right away would not be the healthiest thing for you right now. There are other explanations you need to hear to properly grasp that idea, too._

“So can you tell me how that happened? I just want to make sure he didn’t…” Stiles was not able not to finish the question, but knew it was clear enough for her to understand.

_No, it was with her consent, and she was not under an influence, but… There’s more to it, I promise, but for now I’ll only tell you that Mr. Stilinski was away, and… the other one used it to his advantage._

Stiles did not know what to think of that, especially as she made it clear to make the way his Mother had agreed to this to be sounded as something that had a side that nasty to it, because it was part of the truth.

No matter what, though, he knew for sure that his Father deserved any amount of respect for never being hard with him for not only not being his son, but being born under such ugly circumstances.

_Let’s skip that for now, and start with your birth._

Stiles nodded, going with that for now. The easier it was for her to explain things, the better.

_The preliminary tests were all good, so it was weird how something went wrong all of a sudden. I walked outside to call for another doctor for help when I saw a woman sitting right beside the room. Her eyes were closed, and she was deeply focused on herself, like she decided a hall full of screams of giving birth women was the best place in the world to do her weird meditation._

“You only live once, so why not,” Stiles commented. He was sitting closer to the end of the chair, elbows on his thighs as he was playing with his fingers.

_For a second I thought that all it was, and was about to leave her be. But then I noticed how her mouth moved like she was praying, and how her legs were crossed so tightly- she used her hands to push them as close as possible, like she was holding something back from bursting out from between her legs. Even her fingers were crossed in knots. I don’t know how to really explain how I could tell, but there was definitely something fishy in that. I didn’t know what kind of weird prayer she was doing, but even as a religious person I knew there are talks with the lord that should be cut, no matter how holy the person thinks themselves and their works to be, and I punched her._

Stiles released a gasp of astonishment. There was no reason for him to think of her to be a gentle person since she was, well, not in a very humanly state- but the way she talked had sounded to him like someone who was against any kind violence that was not self-defense.

“You  _punched_  a woman to help a stranger to deliver a baby?!”

The one Stiles titled as  _The Coolest Midwife on Earth_  raised her head in a maneuver that was comparable to raise a chin with pride.

_A Deity. It was Eileithyia, Deity of childbirth. It got me fired, and Hera turned me into the polecat I am now, but it was worth it._

Stiles laughed. “Dude, you’re  _hardcore_!” He blinked a few times and cleared his throat when he realized it was not the proper reaction, considering the last words she added. “I mean, I feel terrible. You didn’t even know neither me nor my Mum, and your life was ruined because of us.”

Her tiny front legs jumped a little in her attempt to shrug. It was so adorable that it was hard not to smile at that.

_As a midwife, it was my job to make sure both the soon-to-be Mother and her baby would make it safely through the whole progress. I didn’t know the real outcome of that act, but I didn’t have a family to return too anyway, and Hecate Soteria has always been nothing but the most kind with me ever since she has taken me as her companion._

“But  _still_ , you're doomed to live forever as a  _polecat_.” This time, Stiles’ straightforwardness did not mean to sting, but to make sure that whatever that she was thinking of him derived from being aware of the whole picture.

_The only downside I've ever found about my job was that I'm the first to hold the baby; the first one to take a look at them, to care for them and cover them in a blanket before bringing them to their Mother- all that without feeling any connection to them, barely affection. You were a really loud one, you know._

It was hard for her to wear expressions, yet her tone covered it- demonstrating all the fondness she could not look at him with.

_When you finally got out, you didn't stop moving, almost like you wanted to jump off of my hands, and crawl straight into your Mother's lap all by yourself. The birth was a really hard one, so I could not blame you for being so restless, but I see now that it was just a hint of what you were going to be._

“My Dad would love to tell you about that,” Stiles snorted.

Hearing someone talking about him like that left him nervous, though, and even her so-called expressionless face. He knew that if he ever owned a pet -– at least a kind that showed love better than the snake he had used to have -– their faces would look like the way she was observing him at that moment.

“So,” he hurried to change the subject; it was not like they had a lot of time before his weariness would take over. “What did that goddess have to do with me?”

_She is Hera’s daughter, and was sent by her to foil the birth._

Stiles frowned. “ _Hera_  wanted me to not be born? But it doesn’t make sense- Mum always called me  _Heracles_ , as in being glorified by Hera. She didn’t  _tell_  me I was her glory, but had never used any of my real names, even when there was no one around to hear. Those especially were the moments where she called Heracles.”

Gale tilted her head to the side, thinking about it a little.

_Your Father wanted to celebrate your special strength by letting you being known as Alcaeüs, or “Powerful One”. I can only assume that your Mother preferred to reference the source for that- your special strength was not something you were born with, but caused by being breastfeeding by Hera herself._

Stiles froze, searching for a long time for the right way to react to information like that. Eventually, he chose to nod his head slowly, as though he would ever be able to assimilate it.

Gale shook her head at herself.

_Shoot, I’m doing this again, am I? Throwing dramatic facts too easily at you._

“No, that’s all fine, really! Just- How did  _that_  happen?”

_Your Mother was too exhausted to nurse you herself, and after the hard birth you came out so frail that you had to be given special treatment- so Athena brought you to Hera, while she was asleep. At some point, you bit her too strongly and woke her up, but Athena told her you were a hungry orphan she found in the forest. When she did find out who you really were, you were already safe in Claudia’s hands again._

But could it also mean...

“So Mum died because of me,” he stated matter-of-factly, because he had always known, had he not? He may have learned of the details, but they only filled holes in the story; there was no way he could have just seen it wrong until that point.

_Of course not, sweetheart! She knew the danger in having you, and chose to raise you anyway. You had no choice in this, let alone control._

But all Stiles could hear was the sound of a clash in his head, following a glass being broken, and his Mother’s voice blaming him for assisting the mysterious  _her_ in their devious plan to kill her.

“How do you even know she had a choice? Did you talk to her after that?” Stiles tried to keep his voice as casual as he could, even though the tears were making their way to his eyes. He remembered well his Mother’s love, but could not blame her if it was not sincere.

_Hecate Soteria told me some of it, but everyone in Olympus knows your story. Whenever there’s something worthy to be known, it's pretty much impossible to avoid stories like this from spreading around, although no one knows who told it first. It’s a bit complicated to explain, but that is how it worked with most of the mythology stories we know today. And your background is far from an ordinary one._

"Not spreading around enough for me to hear all of that it sooner," Stiles shrugged dryly.

_That's why I'm almost glad you got into troubles along friends- it helped me convincing Hecate Soteria to let me give you a hint with that piece of Hecatolite._

Stiles looked at the stone lying on the table, next to Gale. The moonlight that came to the window was softer now than it had been during the time he had seen the pretty phenomenon happening the previous night, but it still somehow caught enough of it to shoot lines of lights to random directions.

_She even lighted up those fake torches for you at your fight against the Gigante, Antaeus, who was awakened from under the ground by Hera's fury._

Stiles' stomach turned over. "So it really should have been me to be smashed instead of Derek."

She breathed out loudly.

_Don't be silly, Stiles! You have nothing to blame yourself for! Your improving abilities were what made Hera so angry that Antaeus was woken up, but also the same which saved you and the others._

He did not feel less guilty by it, but he did not want that to get in the way of hearing about the other subject he had been curious about, so he ignored what Gale said to him and asked her instead: “How did you even know I needed help?”

_The relation of Hecatolite to Hecate Soteria is not only being simply sacred to her. She heard when those two kids were howling in pain to the moon which they could not feel, inside the room which is made of it –_

Stiles almost howled in laughter himself, throwing his head back. “They  _howled_  to the moon?”

_While we see the moon as something that makes it hard for them to control themselves, it is in their deep instinct to long to that feeling, of something that lets their inner selves to break free._

“They longed to the moon so much they couldn't stop howling,  _oh my gods_!” Stiles found it hard to control his laughter.

Her forehead wrinkled a little in a frown.

_I thought they were your friends?_

“I wouldn't call them like that, but if they were, I'd probably laugh even more.”

He kept breaking into random waves of laughter while she stayed quiet for a few moments. When she spoke again, she sounded puzzled.

_Weird generation._

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “Friendships like that existed in all generations, or at least I hope so, because otherwise no one has experienced the big potential some of them had to be awesome until now, with so many ways to joke around with each other.”

_And no support at all?_

“Of course we support each other! It’s just- ugh, never mind. Sorry for that- can you please continue with what I’ve interrupted you with?”

_In any case, it was not only the fact they were surrounded by Hecatolite, but also the connection of Werewolves to Hecate Soteria._

Stiles searched through his memory, but could not recall any mention of the Deity when he had researched about Werewolves. Gale noticed his confusion, and hurried to explain.

_Wolves don't howl at the moon, of course; but the connection between Werewolves and the moon, as you already know, is very real. Do you know the story of Lycaon?_

Stiles nodded.

_It was never mentioned by any of the epic poetry authors, but before Lycaon met with the Druids, he had first sought help from Hecate Soteria, as the Deity of Witchcraft. He knew she was the representer of the dark side of the moon, where Hecabe lives -– another familiar of Hecate Soteria beside myself -– who’s the first human to ever become a wolf; and so Lycaon began praising the moon, so she would agree to turn him and his people back to humans._

Stiles felt that thrill feeling he experienced whenever a piece of information, that never made sense whatsoever, was finally explained by the reveal of something else, sometimes a very simple one.

_She refused to help them, as they have been considered a taboo and outcasts to the Deities due to Lycaon’s deeds, and was the one to refer them to the Druids. The connection remained nonetheless, and now it's in their deep instincts to call for the moon, maybe because of the memory of what could be their real salvation._

Stiles thought about it a little. “That's... there's actually some beauty in that, I have to admit. Well, at least if you ignore the fact that,  _also_  unlike wolves, the moon makes them want to kill everything around them.”

_That was the real punishment- making them become as savage as possible, to make it hard for anyone other than themselves to tolerate them. History proved that little are the humans to accept them, but you are truly a new one._

The same thing that had been stuck in his throat the day he had asked Coach Finstock about it appeared again. He tried to swallow it for a few times, but it did not disappear; not leaving him alone in that moment, where he sat in front of someone who  _finally_  could give him the answer.

_Stiles, do you feel prepared to talk about it?_

Gale talked carefully, but entering into with topic was still not easy for him.

He swallowed. “I think I have an idea already.”

If his guess was right,

The picture in his mind, of the look his Father had worn on his face when his job was almost taken from him because of Stiles, was still fresh; and yet here he was, about to shit all over his Father’s request yet again, which would lead for Stiles to see that look once again.

Maybe he should get to his biological, shitty one for all that, just because he simply did not deserve him.

At any rate, even while being given the option to refuse, he knew it was too late to go back anyway.

“You talked about Hera hating my guts, probably because of my biological parent. I’m a Demigod, like Perseus was, right?”

Gale nodded.

_He even was Zeus Soter’s son, too._

The fast mood swings started to hurt, but he could not resist clenching his fist at being called his  _son_. As far as he was concerned, he was his offspring and nothing beyond it. Thinking about it, just being  _his_  in any way did not sound right.

_Stiles -_

He refused to look at her. “Are there others like me?”

Gale hesitated before she replied. She surely understood she said something wrong, but was not sure what.

_There are Hellenistic settlements in Europe where some of them live. Not all of them are Demigods, but it’s a way to gather around believers of the Deities, so they would have people to give them offerings every once in a while._

“So I have brothers and sisters around the world, who are Zeus’ children like me?”

He got really excited about the idea of having siblings. He had never had a reason to feel jealous at those who had, as Scott was more than enough, but it could be cool to have someone who understood his struggles with his weirdness -– that now he could finally give it the name of  _being a freaking Demigod_  -– and be there for him at the same time. It was something he wished he could give to Scott, too, once he turned into a Werewolf, although he was sure they would eventually find another Werewolf to add to their pack, so it would feel for him more like one.

_I can’t promise they would acknowledge you as a family, although, at the same time, they might find the idea of being in a romantic relationship with you to be wrong._

Well, so much for that.

It was enough for him just to know they existed, though. If at least some of them were nice enough, he could at least be given some pieces of advice by them; at  _fucking long_  last _,_  he actually had an address to go to, instead of finding the answers he needed through training, like  _someone_   _who pretended to know anything_ had suggested.

He looked down at his hand, not quite sure what to think of himself now. With so little known of Demigods about them as a species, being told what he did not turn his world upside down like he had expected it to. It felt like he was simply a son to someone who actually was something, and maybe he deserved that hit to his ego- but it felt idiotic to be excited about the discovery, which only made it harder to believe he was one.

And yet, something was enough for Hera to go after him even before he was born, and if it was for no other reason than being her husband’s child- then it meant there were more out there like him, for sure, and he had to find them.

There were a couple of dozens of legends about Demigods, but he doubted that rereading the most famous, hence most detailed of them -– with the most popular being the one of Perseus, of course -– would give him the help he needed. If he had never identified with them before, even when he was not aware of his special case of immense strength, then it was unlikely he would get something out of that at this point.

Not that all the pages upon pages about Deities helped him with something, either.

But most importantly of all- he could not approach an issue when he barely believed in a part of it. The fact that Deities were real still did not sit right in his mind, though, no matter how much he told himself a half of him was literally divine. and it explained a lot about himself.

But even though it was easier for Deities to hide from the human eye, what was the point of that? Was not the whole idea of being a Deity was, well, being a Deity to  _someone_?

“But if gods exist, then why did people stop believe in them?” he asked eventually after a short pause, “Why everything turned into science all of a sudden?”

_It's complicated. As the Deity of the sky, Zeus Soter is capable to control any natural phenomenon which happens near him, but not all around the earth. Nothing is exclusively under the Deities’ area of responsibility, so both science and belief in gods is true._

“But why did they suddenly just  _stop_?”

_In short, the Deities were weary of the troubles humans caused them, and decided it was not worth their worship. They broke Olympus out of the mountain it sat upon, and let the Romes those which came afterwards to distort the religion, and then others take over over them._

“If only he stopped messing with humans himself, I’m sure most of both his and  _our_  troubles could be avoided,” Stiles huffed. “Seriously, am I gonna be randomly attacked for the rest of my life for that? I guessed I would mind less if I didn't have a freaking  _Alpha pack_  to deal with, and I bet the Kanima was not the last monster to appear out of nowhere.”

_I really wish I could talk to the other Deities like I speak to Hecate Soteria, but since she isn't an Olympian Deity, she can't help you with that either._

Gale sighed, discouraged by that fact.

_But you can always try to speak to them yourself, asking them for a chance to prove yourself._

“How do I do it?” Stiles asked right away. He had no intention to think about it twice; if he had even the tiniest possibility to get rid of it. He would take any risk.

_Are you sure you're ready to do it?_

Stiles nodded; talking to a Deity somehow did not seem like the craziest things he could ever do, comparing to everything he had had to go through only that day. He was not scared, either, but that already had to do with the fact he simply would never be afraid to talk to anyone, unless he was given a very clear warning to back up, and even then, he would keep trying approaching them.

And yes, believing her that Deities did not just existed but were also willing to talk with him, if he only tried enough, was crazy too, but with how the torches had been so conveniently lightened up during the battle with the Gigante- it also made no sense to not believe that.

_You should try to call upon Apollo then. He's one of the most compassionate among the Deities, and is also in charge of the Oracle, so he may be able to tell you what to expect._

“You say that like talking to gods is something any person can do at any given time.”

_The Deities always hear people’s prayers, even if they only rarely act on them. In your case, though, I’m sure he’ll be interested to listen to what you have to say. Prayers are done both at temples sacred to and by personal altars, so building yourself one that’s sacred to Apollo will do._

Gale described him shortly what it was supposed to look like, what materials he should use to build it with and what offerings he should leave, and Stiles wrote it all down on a paper.

The darkness outside started to lose its complete blackness to a dark blue shade by the time they finished, and Stiles was sure he could hear the first songs of the early rising birds. He wondered when was the last time he was up at that hour, while not being so deeply engrossed in a full night research that he could not appreciate it.

_I'm sure you'll get far from here on. I’m very sad to hear that your Mother has passed before her time, I truly am, even if you choose to not believe me. I couldn’t be happier to meet her son and to witness myself how great of a son he had been to her, seeing you adopted her troubled nature. I will take it personally if you don’t watch over yourself._

Stiles smiled sadly. He did not expect to get attached to a stranger like her so much, especially under such a short time. But she had saved his Mother in an awesome way, after all, and sounded like she would have done the same even if she knew who the woman she had punched was.

“I promise to do my best. I guess I owe you that much.”

_Can I give you one last advice?_

Stiles nodded, frowning.

_Keep an eye on your beloved ones, as close as possible. Deities tend to hurt the surrounding of those they are willing to punish, and while Hera tried to kill you because she was furious with Zeus Soter- now her anger is directed toward you, especially now that you’re getting stronger. It’ll be a dangerous time for them._

“It always is in here, don’t you worry.”

_Never underestimate the wrath of the Deities. They can’t quite demolish the whole planet, but they do have the power to get rid of every single creature that will show up in Beacon Hills in a blink of the eye._

“I’ll take a note of that, but I have one more thing to ask you before you go too.” He played with his fingers, hopeful. “Of Zeus is the god of sky, does it mean I can - “

Gale shook her head, and Stiles hated himself for developing the expectation.

_Demigods always have something special about them- you can tell they have that divine spark just from watching them go about their daily life. But you’re known as the first one to have something beyond, and it scares a lot of people, especially those who really should be intimidated by you, like Hera._

“I  _intimidate_  people?” he raised his eyebrows. “ _That's_  new! Where's Scott to hear it? Or, better yet, Derek. He will be  _so_  proud to hear he was successful with his investment.”

Stiles walked her to the entrance door, and after a short exchange of mutual nodding, she ran away into what was left of that night. His eyes followed her until she disappeared completely from sight.

He felt his tiredness again -– only now it was even more painful than the last time -– as he walked up the stairs, trying not to give up and fall asleep right there.

He laid on his bed, and until he fell asleep he did not stop wondering on the one question he forgot to ask Gale, which would undoubtedly keep buzzing inside his mind for a long time:

If Hera wanted to harm him, then how come had she waited until the moment he would start getting stronger?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/167028393671/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-4)


	5. Chapter 5

There was a weird dream that he had had some time ago: two women had stood in front him, both as beautiful as -

No; no one could replace Lydia’s title, not even supernatural beings, like those two had seemed to be.

Their offered question was whether he would prefer to be given calm, easy, yet average life, or a miserable one, where his name would be remembered forever for its glory.

When had been asked whether he could share that life with his beloved, the surprised women had answered that only he himself could have an impact on his surrounding, evidently; not his life.

The memory of it may be vague, but not his final answer: because it was for their reply, and for that reason only, that he had chosen the latter between the two.

 

~-~

It took a few repeats of the buzzing sound before Stiles understood that the noise was not a part of his dream, but came from his mobile phone.

He slid his finger lazily a few times on the screen until the call was answered. He blinked at the bright light, and eventually manage to calculate that his overall time of sleep consisted of roughly five hours, when he needed at least two times more of that amount.

The screen's light was shut down, and as the darkness that filled the room once again was suddenly not as quiet as it had been before, it was then when he also realized he was actually supposed to respond to the angry talking voice coming from his phone.

“Coach?” He croaked in a voice that did not leave a doubt he was asleep until very recently, and rubbed his eye.

“Are you _serious?"_ Finstock barked at him; Stiles regretted immediately for bringing the phone to his ear, and put the call on a speaker instead, where he could actually control the volume despite the distance of the phone from him. “I'm standing here, in this stupid locker room of a school that won't let me enjoy its conditioner air services like a decent human being, when you're still at your home _asleep_? If Derek doesn't double- no, _triple_ pay me for this, then I swear to -– “

“ -– Sorry Coach, I fought a giant- I mean, a _Gigante,_ yesterday,” Stiles murmured an apology; he was somewhere aware of how nonchalantly he was telling something like that, but did not care as long as it made Finstock stop talking out loud for a while. “And there might be some arrows missing from the box, but don't worry, they all were used for a good cause.”

“ _What_?! Why you- Ugh, that’s it. I'm not gonna wait until you move your little heroic ass over here, I'm outta here. But I swear on my Step Father’s inheritance, if you make me wake up so early again without showing up, even if you fought an army of monsters the size of the Empire Tower -– “

“ -– Which is likely to happen, even during our training sessions, by the way,” Stiles cut in again, in case _that_ fact would make him be impressed enough to stop the flow of reproaches, “because it turns out I’m a Demigod, and I know of at least one goddess who plans to put me on a lot of survival experiences.”

“A Demigod, huh?” The effect Stiles aimed at indeed pulled through, as the Coach’s tone finally calmed down a little. “Well, don’t forget to credit me once it gets you to a statue of a hero. I expect to have the stars shaping in a way that everyone will look at them and think: _yeah, that kid is good-ol’ Finstock’s doing_.”

“Yeah, sure thing Coach,” Stiles murmured, agreeing to deal with any bizarre promise he would have to make as long as it would be after he went back to sleep. Maybe he would find another time to stipulate it with Finstock _helping_ them, for once, instead of pretending he had no clue about anything that was going on. It was something which Stiles had already brought up, naturally, but this time his muscles _would_ forgive him for whatever way questioning his Coach would backfire on him.

“But remember that no parent of yours would save your ass from me if you forget to cancel a training session ever again. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Good,” Finstock said before finally hanging up.

Stiles put his phone back on the shelf next to him, though not before noticing this was not the first time Finstock had called him at the last hour -– which explained what most of the yells had been about -– Stiles was too tired to care about the possible consequences of that for now.

With a sigh of relief, he rolled back to face the wall, struggling for a while to find again the perfect position he had been woken up from until he had to give up. Fortunately, he did not even need that, as he quickly fell back the sweet comfort of sleep.

-

Stiles would have slept through almost the entire rest of the day, if he was not woken up by his great hunger. He could not recall the last time he had a craving for food in that level.

Once he fed himself up enough to return to his senses, he realized the over-sleep was mistake -– as necessary as it had been for his body -– as he had very little sleep during the night that came shortly afterwards. It did not help that, during the following morning, Finstock would be harsher than ever after Stiles tried to convince him the truth of the story of how Derek’s pack and him had taken down the Gigante, especially with the part of someone like Stiles doing the impossible, and making something completely useless like a broken arrow to work. By the end of the session, his muscles would be so sore that he had trouble to do any kind of movement, only barely succeeding to drive himself back home.

Which was the explanation he gave himself to take a different path than usual, where he could take a break at the Loft. After such a crazy night, he _deserved_ to at least make sure they were alright, okay?

Only he completely forgot of the broken lift in that building. Seriously, had Derek been that desperate that he took the place despise his still-not-denied fear of stairs?

Cursing the Werewolf as many times as the number of the many levels of stairs that he had to overcome, he at last reached the final floor. Before he could knock on the massive door, though, it was slid open, almost being torn away from being pushed aside so hard.

By the frame stood the same unfamiliar girl from the previous night. It was good to see that her Werewolf magic came for her advantage for once- by that point, all her injuries from that night seemed to be long healed, and she did not seem to cover any sign of weakness as she stared right into Stiles’ eyes, not bothering to being even slightly welcoming. That hard expression on her face almost made her unrecognizable, comparing to the slack state Stiles had seen her at, after getting herself beaten up worse than the others against the Alpha pack.

Stiles liked a straight-forward attitude, but still- what was up with the stare-down, like going to visit Derek made him a sure enemy?

Obviously, Derek did not have a lot of people whom he just hang out with-

Or at all. Damn, was that sad. He had never cared enough to wonder about it before, but at this point, after the recent events and the little yet significant thing he had the chance to learn about him, it made Stiles feel bad to think about the time _after_ it would get quiet enough in their life for Derek to have some fun. Even social-loathing people like Derek deserved hang-out buddies into force themselves into their life just so they could have _someone_.

Then the girl snapped him out of his thoughts as she was closing the door.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Stiles reached out his hand to stop her, which was almost smashed in the process.

“We won’t buy your cookies, the rent was already paid, and if you want to tell me about Jesus Christ then just say the word and I’ll be _more_ than glad to see how happy you’ll be to show me the other cheek,” she threatened, dragging the door a little back in a motion that hinted that she was going to slam the door shut this time, whether any part of Stiles’ body would be in the way or not.

“I’m neither of that! I- look, I was there at the night the Alphas attacked you, okay? I _saved_ you.”

Her hand seemed to get loose a little on the door, as all the force that was there before moved back to her eyes, this time in a more personal manner. He was not just a stranger she was simply unapproved with his arrival anymore.

“You _saved_ us? Where are the dead bodies of the Alphas, then? What did you do to make sure the thing that smashed Derek will not reappear?” She did not wait for a reply for any of the questions before continuing. “You didn't save shit, so turn around and get lost.”

Stiles swallowed, almost wincing at his hurt pride.

She was right, though; even though he wanted to celebrate that badass delivery that happened that day, the only helpful consequence of that night was making sure they all would survive for a couple more days.

He felt crappy at the thought of all that time he had spent sleeping like an idiot, instead of trying to searching for tracks as long as they were still fresh. He could have at least started working on that altar fort Apollo, before another, an even bigger monster would appear out of nowhere, hurting his surroundings while looking for him. He should have known better.

“Give all of us a break and go home watch your stupid little drama club where that kind of acts counts as saving the day.” Her voice made Stiles’ eyes to refocus on her own, after trailing off; there was no sympathy at all in her judgmental gaze. “You’ll be much safer with waving your swords against fantasy enemies in scripted performance than having to deal with real ones.”

Her words woke up some stubborn urge in him to prove her wrong, because, being deliberate enough or not, there was surely not a reason to regard him as someone unhelpful anymore- and like _hell_ that he went that far to be pushed away yet again. and if he let her making him retreating back home, he knew it.

As she attempted to re-blocking the entrance to the Loft once more -– something which metaphorically would close the door for future chances of using everything he had accomplished so far -– Stiles stopped her, this time using more strength than necessary to prove his point, and cut the silence that had let her thinking it was over.

“Okay, you’re right. I technically didn't entirely save the day. But at least you know I'm _trustworthy_ , right? You can count on me during a battle, both because we’re on the same side, and because I’m not a source of distraction. And if I am, then it’s only to the enemy, and I hurt them in the process. I used to be ineffective, but not anymore.”

If anything, he was more likely to be considered the source of _attention_ at that point, as the one who triggered a monster by his mere existence, but that was beyond the point he was trying to convince her -– and himself, a little bit -– in.

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could make any further sound- Derek’s yell of “ _Cora, just let him in_ ,” was heard from behind her, inside.

The one apparently named Cora closed her eyes, steadying her angry breathing before opening them again, with her gaze less intimidating, but still far from friendly. “What are you doing here?” She asked in a forced-patient tone.

“Coming to tell Derek exactly what made the online monsters I’ve slashed until now to turn into real ones, and _not_ in a cute way like in _Digimon_. The real question is, why do you let yourself to keep blocking my way in, even after the _owner_ of this place just gave me a permission to get inside?”

She read his face for a while longer -– almost like the last check that he was not a possible threat after all –- until she finally cleared the way to Stiles, who nodded at her with a half-sincere appreciative smile as he made his way in. He was careful to not look too triumphant, as the last time he had passed next to a Werewolf who was forced to let Stiles do as he liked -– even though they had been _in his own house -–_ it ended in getting so startled he almost tripped over himself.

The Loft had been as empty as it had been during to Stiles’ last visit there almost two days prior, expect there finally were some little signs of liveness, like undone sheets on the sofa, and empty boxes of takeout on the little table. Unsurprisingly, visitors were not expected- or at least that what one would say at a mess in another house, where there was not a brood Werewolf, who had had yet to synchronize with human social terms ever since the cavemen era.

Derek’s figure in the middle of the room was tensed, arms crossed protectively over his chest as he scowled at Stiles, and just how sad it is that Stiles felt a relief seeing him at that state, knowing he had healed back to normal.

There was no remaining to the acceptance he had seen from him that night, when they took together on the Gigante. Stiles hoped there was at least some kind of happiness at reuniting with his Betas he kept deep inside him, and just did not feel like sharing.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, probably as a double-check since he had most definitely heard Stiles and Cora’s talk.

Stiles snorted. “Woah, that was surprisingly coordinated. Are you two related by any chance?”

“Cora's my younger sister,” Derek answered simply, and only that fact explained why it was taken as a serious question.

It caught Stiles by surprise; as far as he had known until that moment, Laura was Derek’s only sibling remaining from the fire, and apart of Peter there was no more Hales alive anyway.

He remembered Cora from elementary school, where they had never shared any class together- and therefore it should not be that shocking to him that he had not recognized her himself, unlike as easy as it had been for him with Derek.

Stiles looked behind himself at Cora, taking in her joined arms and focused, deceptively calm look, like a predator that could barely contain his will to pull its claws on someone's throat. It was the exact same way Derek had used to look at Stiles with during the first months they had known each other- not that it had gone completely by that point, but those days there was at least some... _mutual_ _understanding_. Derek may not be as serious as him about it, but evidently had fewer reasons to keep him out of the way.

It was more than this, of course; whatever Cora had been through, wherever she had been, Derek had simultaneously gone through situations that taught him how to allow someone with a common ground as him to become his ally, and put up with them with no need to first starting to like them more.

It was fine by Stiles' part; he was always ready for new challenges of making someone accepting his presence, with extra points if he ever made them hide a smile by his humour.

Cora’s eyebrows furrowed in an expression that dared Stiles to try talking with them about that subject, and when he turned over to face Derek again, as though it was out of a good measure- Derek's brows fixed an impatient look at Stiles in the exact same fashion as Cora's.

Stiles hummed, raising his own eyebrows gleefully. “That’s some great news. I actually came over just to make sure that you’re okay, figured it’ll better to visit than checking it over a text -– ”

“ -– You wouldn’t come all the way here just to check on me.”

 _Why, ‘cause no one else would?_ Was The question that almost escaped from Stiles’ mouth before he managed to hold it in; he was really lucky today- firstly finding the right words for such an immovable object that Cora appeared to be, and then stopping himself from blurting out the wrong ones with Derek.

Derek was an equal opponent when it came to pushing someone's buttons down- – or at least he was an expert to get back at Stiles with it, and not letting him be the only one to do it -– but Stiles believed it was his part in their mutual understanding deal to not get too snarky at him when he did not deserve it, even if Derek at that moment was not behaving according to the same spirit of appeasement.

So even if it drove Stiles mad how a guy just would not believe any kind of concern towards him out of good will, no matter what- he had to understand Derek had rightful reasons to not change that conception. With Cora and two of his packmates back, he had a lot of his mind, after all.

“You didn't have to use threats when asking for my help for a _reason_ , Derek,” Stiles tried to talk as patiently as he could. “I still don't think of you as the best guy in the world, but believe me that watching that huge fist on you did not leave me indifferent.”

Derek clenched his jaw, and funny enough looked to be less bothered about the Gigante than about Stiles for having a reaction towards it.

“I'm fine. Next time settle for sending a text, so they won’t be able to track you. Now _leave_.”

Stiles did not hurry to do as he was told, though; he wanted to surprise Derek about the other happy achievement from that night, along with successfully helping to get the two taken Betas alive and well.

He looked around casually, searching for ways to stretch the small talk. Even while knowing he had to be a little gentler with him, he knew that the best way to calm Derek was to annoy him into forgetting the haunting thoughts that caused him to want Stiles out, and then dropping the bomb.

“If Erica and Boyd aren't here, that's a good sign, right?” He mentioned once he noticed the emptiness of the big space around the three of them. “Did they rejoin with their families? I didn’t have time to ask my Dad about it.”

“The only thing that should matter to you is that they both were released from where they were held. Your job is done now. You have no business in here anymore.”  

Okay, that was just way too much. Derek was _honestly_ out of his mind, even for someone in his situation.

“You- You're just going to throw all the effort you did like that?!” He threw his hands in the air at the illogic that Derek exhibited, like had done for a while now, which Stiles just could not bear any more. “Then why the hell did you press me into searching about myself? Why did you pay to Coach to train me, and bought this stupid club-in-disguise-of-a-bat for me? I call bullshit that all of that was just for the sake of the night of the rescue alone!”

Derek closed his eyes for a moment, then looked away, as in a way to keep the renew distance between them after Stiles made a few steps towards him. “Because if you insist to stick to _this_ world, which is not related to your species, even while having the choice to keep your safe distance from it, then I better make sure -– ”

“ -- I just helped you get two of your Betas free, and almost died right with you while trying. How can you- How the fuck _dare_ you to keep consider it as _insisting to stick around_?”

Stiles was stormy, even more by how irreverent Derek's attitude was towards that subject, like there was a sense in not caring about the amount of time and money he had spent on a teen that irritated the shit out of him. Nope, not bizarre at all.

“You _did_ help me, and I thank you dearly for it,” Derek admitted through a deep breath. “But after both of us filling our parts in the agreement we had, it’s now time for you to get back to your more important experiences in your life, and enjoy the summer like a normal teenager. You can quit the training with Finstock too, if you are through with it.”

In any other time, Stiles would have been delighted to hear it. At that moment, though, he knew it would only show that he was not bound enough for assisting them.

“Does it honestly look like I helped you track them down because I just _happened_ to have less entertaining stuff to interest me?” Stiles snapped. “You actually think I did it because I was fucking _bored_ , Derek? You keep saving my ass only because your conscience would bother you otherwise, or some commitment you have towards Scott, and that’s all fine, but just so you know: If right now _is_ a playtime for me, then it’s only because it’s nothing comparing to what I _really_ can’t escape from. That Gigante from yesterday? He was after me, and it looks more and more like _a_ _piece of cake_ when I take into account everything that I’ve just discovered waiting for me in that _other_ world. I don’t blame you, because I would have clashed with it with or without you taking an interest in it, even when you didn’t listen to me that it might lead to a bad discovery, but you _really_ gotta stop worry about how involved I am in yours.”

Derek looked at him bewildered, his thick brows coming closer as Stiles paused, less for the dramatic effect and more to regain some air after the long rant he raved about. It was the reaction he had originally planned to get from him, but unfortunately, he did not feel like making a laugh about it as he had intended to.

“I’m a Demigod,” Stiles waited for a little before he continued, giving time to the new information to settle in. “Zeus’ son, no other.”

It felt stupid to declare it while he himself had a hard time believing in it, hence why it was still hard for him to get excited at finally knowing the answer he had looked for so long- but at least now Derek knew he was not the only one being persecuted.

Derek’s eyes darted as he processed this, and after another pause, Stiles continued.

“You’d love to hear that some of the gods don’t like me very much -– especially Hera, by the way -– and that’s why they sent this Gigante on me. So you were right, I didn’t come just to see how you’re doing, but also giving you a fair warning that they -– and just to make it clear, by _them_ I don’t mean Shapeshifters or Hunters the _freaking gods_  -– seem to be after people who are close to me. And they don’t like Werewolves so much as it is, still traumatized by Lycaon. So if there is _any_ reason to deliberate over me continue to help you guys, even if it means that at least _you_ won’t have to look after your back for the rest of your life, it’s this.”

Derek stayed quiet all along, half listening and half lost in his thoughts. Stiles did not know whether he wanted more to throw more words at Derek and baffle him or to just shake him off until he finally treated Stiles like he deserved -– because he was _not_ just any teenager who acted while not knowing any better, even if he was just making his first steps into this -– and let him stay for enough length of time so he could help them.

“You want to tell me _this thing_ is a son of a Deity?” Cora sniggered behind him, turning both Stiles' attention and body to her direction.

“That's not my real shape, you see. Every full moon I turn into an Olympian athlete, with muscles and an olive wreath and all.”

She huffed, eyeing him unpleasantly. “It's not about the look, although, come to think of it, if you truly reflect their divine genes, then that explains how this world is so out of control and a complete mess.”

Stiles pointed at her a warning finger. “Just so you know, I am the only known Demigod to ever have any kind of superpower, okay? And I only know of my immense strength, but the same way _that_ hasn't happened before, it’s possible that the next person to piss me off enough will reveal my ability to shoot bolts of lightning, as the son of the god of storms.”

Her expression changed from an amused back to a more serious one. For a moment he was not sure if it was because she found any kind of a threat as an alarming one, even if it was clearly not meant seriously. It was scary how living without any relative made her extremely careful; she was like those animals that if you looked too much into their eyes, no matter how happy and calm you smelled to them and how harmful and fragile was your appearance, they would snarl at you.

Being a Hale meant being cursed to have some serious trust issues. Stiles did not want to be in her presence after she would hear about the doings of the other one of her only two remaining relatives. To think that Derek had to go through such kind of revelation again, when during the first one he was busy to protect Stiles’ freaking life.

Okay, so _maybe_ he had been a little too rough with Derek than he deserved. No, not just maybe- he _had_.

When Stiles faced the latter once again, he was still deep in thoughts- only now he was looking directly at Stiles, examining him with his red Alpha eyes on. He was so deep in thoughts, eyes darting all around Stiles, that he even let just a tiny-bit of his gourds down: his lower lip was slack enough to show his bunny teeth, and his arms were loose in his sides.

“Do you mind?” Stiles shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze, as he reminded the lackest-of-understanding-regarding-of-manners man in the world the necessity to _ask_ people of their consent in this kind of situations.

Not that Stiles was a role model when it came to politeness -– or anything else, really; never take an example of proper behaviour in a social situation from Stiles Stilinski, kids -– but he at least knew to stop giving someone the once-over once that person _noticed_.

Thankfully, Derek got the message, and as he was regaining the focus on Stiles’ eyes, his own were turned off back to their human natural colour of… green? Hazel? at least his Sister had a normal pair of brown that did not make anyone’s life difficult. There was no point to ask Derek about it and expect for an answer, and there was no way he would get close enough to take a decent enough look to decide himself-

Great, his heart was pounding now. Yes, letting your thought drift off was just a wonderful thing to do in front of people.

The most important thing was that now it felt like Derek actually acknowledged the existence of personality in his body and not staring through him. But even though he was a little stunned, it did not seem to affect him that much that he wanted to question it.

“You don’t look surprised,” Stiles mentioned.

“They always talked about gods in more seriousness than of any of the other stories I was told,” Derek shrugged, “so I’ve always believed in the likelihood of the existence of gods more than anything, whether they were still around or not.”

He might try to appear casual, but like dog sniffing at random spot -– Stiles _had_ the right to keep with those imageries of dogs as long as Derek kept reacting so ridiculously to things -– it was clear that he was still disappointed at the lack of permission to keep examining Stiles’ _aura_ , or whatever nonsense he called it.

Stiles _really_ wished he could control it.

“What about that last thing you told me, when you searched about your name?” Derek suddenly asked.

Stiles felt like he was getting a headache. He was glad that he knew to not directly mention his Mother’s nickname to him, _Heracles_ , next to Cora -– as disinterested as she might be in the subject -– but still, _that_ question out of everything? Really?

“I got my strength while being fed by her milk when I was a baby, long story, but there’s nothing more to it than the irony of her hating towards the children of Zeus, I guess. But why do you keep asking questions about _this_ instead of more interesting stuff- I mean, you could have just asked where my strength came from, or -– “

“ -– Is it really about this, or something else?”

He did not regret telling Derek about his real name -– which was supposed to be the greatest regret in his life -– as much as telling him about _this_.

“What- Who _cares_ about that now? Yes, it’s mainly Hera who’s against me, as far as I know, but why does _this_ matter to you? I know who I am now, and who’s after me and why, and my name doesn’t contribute to preparing for her plans. What’s with this attention to meaningless details? No, seriously, I really like how the Kanima used to be just a story for you, but once you discovered it’s real, you never care to wonder about the option that other things could even more possibly be real, like in my case.”

“I was _a little_ too busy to do a good thinking about it- but I made sure _you_ will have that time, since it was your job to take my guide and do it yourself.” Derek rejoined his arms again.

“Yeah, too busy in arguing with me instead of doing a mutual listening.” Stiles’ voice turned angry again. “Same mistake you’ve always made with Scott, by the way, and that’s why we kept discovering things way too late than what we could have.”

“Because you keep fighting against my knowledge in supernatural with your stupid teenagerly logic that’s based on Google.”

“Well look at that, the wolf knows at least _one_ thing about the human world, what a progress!” Stiles sighed, trying to level his tone. “Don’t you see that the supernatural world and the human one actually exists on the same planet, with no borders? The fact that one mostly hides behind the shadows doesn't mean you can’t learn anything at all from one about the other- they’ll always keep affecting each other!”

“And how much experience do you even have to make such conclusions?”

“Every time we worked together, and not separately, it was when we finally _got somewhere_. Being a little open-minded is something you should consider sometimes.”

“Back at you.”

Stiles bit his lips in frustration. Yes, he was not that easy himself, and it would have been a lot harder for him to do anything that Derek had asked him without the constant ultimatum- but it did not mean he would have refused to do all those stuff as long as Derek had displayed that he was ready to compromise himself.

But when you have Werewolf with the dominance games to deal with, it seemed like Stiles had been far more optimistic than he should have been.

He moved his hands elsewhere in irritation; they were getting to nowhere with that. “Even though I’m sure helping you will be _such_ a blast, I believe I’ll show myself out now and do my own research, since sooner or later it would surely be a problem related to Scott too. Not to mention all that Greek mythology shit I have to deal now. See you around, I guess. Hopefully, next time won’t be my dead body under a Chimera.”

Stiles started taking steps backwards, raising his eyebrows at Derek as giving him one last chance to regret, and once he got to Cora’s line -– who looked relieved at the corner of his eye, finally having him away -- he eventually showed his back to Derek, as no reaction came from him at all.

Or at least for a few more of Stiles’ steps towards the exit, when Derek stopped him out of the blue.

“They know about the Loft, and always keep an eye on us. You coming here means that, even if they didn’t see your Jeep that night, they’ll recognize it from now on.”

Stiles pivoted and completed the motion with a full-body roll of his eyes. “Like they wouldn’t know anyway after they got to Scott, which is supposed to be enough of a justifiable reason for you to why I still have to help you stop them, by the way. So if you’re about to give me a speech about how reckless and irresponsible I was for coming here, I swear -– “

“ -– It’s too late now anyway, there’s no time to blame you for letting the Alphas associate your scent with us. But I’m sure they’ve figured the Gigante was attracted to the bank because of you, and that they’ll be in danger as long as you’re around us. After what you’ve done, I owe you enough to protect you while that risk also protects us. And you’re right, we _will_ need your assistance again.”

Derek’s arms fell beside his body now, and his scowl was just slightly less stiff than usual- he was far from being entirely satisfied with his decision, but he made it anyway.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, trying to understand what made him change his mind all of a sudden; was he even mentally stable?

He decided to put this aside eventually, though, knowing they could always talk about it later, when he would take part in their official gatherings.

Teaming up with not-so-sane people was not exactly the smartest thing to do, but sometimes you just had to work with what you were given- and there was no way Stiles would let anything get him out of it.

He smiled and started retreating his leaving steps- until Cora got in his way as she stood right in front of him, interfering their eye contact to get Derek’s full attention. “Didn’t you hear what he just said? Being close to him puts us in danger!”

Probably only a few hours into their mostly still fresh, finally quiet reunion- Derek was not bothered by it. He stood his ground, jaw strictly clenched like he had to swallow a snarl at his motives being questioned. “The Alpha pack on its own is strong enough to kill us all, they proved that at the vault. We already have our lives at risk.”

“And what do you say about that Gigante who made them escape and look for another hideous?”

“Do you mean the same one who made them go away before they slashed all of our throats?”

“Seriously, what’s up with that obsess to rip throats out? You don’t have the show-my-throat-in-submission instinct and yet -– ” Stiles started to wonder, then took his cue to fall silent as two pairs of impatient eyes glowered at him, and turned to look at each other again as soon as Stiles closed his mouth.

“That one was only a lucky coincidence,” Cora went on. “Or maybe not, now that they’re all free out there and have all the time they please to plan how to surprise us next, and this time doing a little worse than keeping us in a moonlight-proof room.”

“Hopefully not by much, because being away from the moon already affected the three of you. Peter said the next full moon is going to be the worst one you have ever had, we'll need to chain you again.”

Her tightly closed fists relaxed suddenly, the rest of her body gradually reducing its tension along with them. “ _Uncle_ Peter?”

“Soon enough you'll wish he'd stay dead,” Stiles murmured to the floor.

He felt her eyes on him for a moment, before her voice was heard being directed toward Derek's direction. “What is he talking about?”

Derek growled with frustration. “ _Stiles._ ”

“What? At some point she had to -– ” He cut himself off as he noticed Derek with his brows raised and his eyes on him, hinting heavily at the door behind him. “Oh, I see, you want to have a little family-reunion chat with her, huh? Well, good luck with that. Have a fun time. Well, not really, if you’re gonna talk about- _Anyway_ , I've been unwanted here for enough time, so I guess this is my cue to go. So just text me when you, you know. I'll just, um. Yeah.”

He nodded a goodbye in an awkward movement, and this time when he turned, he made it all the way to the door and closed it behind him without anyone stopping him.

He would insist to stay, trying to start the investigation after the Alpha pack already- but trying to find a way to calm down the Deities seemed like a task with a bigger degree of significance. Now that he thought about it, he should have mentioned that the Deities being after him and all his surrounding was possibly a problem that Stiles could get rid of pretty soon, but he was doubt this would be taken seriously anyhow.

And even more importantly, he did not want to risk having someone insisting to be a witness for him committing a worship to a Deity- or in other, more correctly words, doing ridiculous acts in order to seduce a Deity, in _hope_ he would be summoned and talk with him, because somehow that was his life now.

-

The altar, a fire pit he built by the wonderful source of random tutorials that is YouTube- was far from being a noble one like Gale had told him to form, admittedly. It was stable enough to at least stand stably against a summer breeze, but it looked so idiotic that even children would point and laugh at him. Seriously, Stiles knew that if he were a Deity, he too would be offended.

But hey, he had already done some reading about Greek mythology stories, and if they were even partly true, then there was always a chance that the Deities did not care enough to look at anything further than their so-called perfect selves that were not pretty, female virgins. If Stiles had any luck in his life, then it was the fact that the Deities who _did_ exist were close to that way in which they were represented in most of the legends.

Well, if being that idiot was what being divine was all about, maybe there _was_ something about Stiles being half-godlike after all.

Stiles tried to comfort himself with the other successes of the project, even if Apollo would somehow not be impressed: the overall cost was only under 25 dollars, and did not cause him to as many abrasions as he had originally thought he would have ended with. Moreover, it proved he had a potential to be a decent family man one day- a very clumsy one, but it was still better than one who could not assemble anything at all. Well, that is, unless his future partner would be better than him at this, which had bigger odds.

But none those thoughts helped once he began preparing the altar to be consecrated to Apollo. He found himself throwing in the only sacred signs of the Deity which he could find nearby, which summed up in purchased myrtle and laurel leaves, as well as palm tree ones which he collected from around the town; it had taken some time to get enough amount of the latter, but he eventually found short enough trees to climb on, and totally was _not_ busted by the owner of the small garden and was shouted away.

Stiles looked at the final product of almost two days of work, and had a feeling that even if the result looked better- he would still find it hard to believe the summoning was going to actually happen, despite all the things he had seen and had been through.

All the literal blood, tears and sweat he had been dirtied by -– both his and others -– just during the previous several days, which felt like no number of showers could clean; all of this was going to stop just by simply getting on one knee and _pray_ for mercy from Deities he had never believed in?

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles sighed to himself.

Perhaps not the best thing to blurt in front of an altar to a Deity from another, polytheistic religion, but, even more ironically, it still was not as ridiculous as the lame attempt that was in front of him.

He lighted up a few matches and threw them into the pit; the growing heat was not as comforting as it would have been if it was not Californian June at that moment.

He sat on his knees and closed his eyes, he focused at the aroma of the burned leaves that surrounded him, letting himself relax into it even while ignoring the annoying feeling of the shirt being stuck to his back with sweat. As stupid as he knew he was looking at that moment, he tried to forget everything for a few moments and breathed in the nice scent the air was filled with.

“Hey there, Apollo, man,” he started in a low voice.

Whether it was it was appropriate or not to talk that way to a Deity, somehow praising a beloved fictional character was easier than one which he could not treat as fictional anymore.

“I heard you’re the patron of single men, so you must feel my ten years-long struggle. But I’m completely ready to give up on the crush of my life if you agree to help me protect my family and friends, which includes her as well.” Stiles repeated that thought over and over in his mind for a few times until he regretted it at once; especially as Lydia _had_ ears and eyes everyone. “Okay, so she’ll probably kill me if she ever hears I considered her a friend, but she’s been close to my social circle lately, and that puts her in danger along with everyone else who has gotten closer to me, even if for not that long ago, which brings me back to my point.”

He sighed heavily again, forcing himself to focus. If he wanted to get anything out of this, he should give it his all.

“Whatever it is that you gods want from me, I really don’t care what you put me through as long as it doesn’t involve any of them. Or anyone else that doesn’t deserve it, of course. Throw at me as many Gigantes as you wish, get me stuck in one room with multiple Dracanaes and Arachnes, let me have the most ridiculous death of being run over by a Centaur; I really don’t care, as long as they’re all safe.”

Nothing happened; no response nor any other sound aside from the crackling fire and the light breeze of the wind that moved between the trees.

But the more pointless the situation looked like, the more Stiles was determined to prove to himself that all of his hard work was not for nothing.

“Look, I understand Zeus going with another woman that isn't his wife for the who-knows-what-time offended some of your fellow gods in the Olympus and got you all pretty upset, so let's all agree he's a big douche. He almost slipped my family apart, believe me that I'm right with you on this. But I still don't see how does it could make someone throwing monsters into a Werewolves’ fight just because I happened to _be_ there. If you all want me dead, you could just sit and watch as those Alphas would do the job for you. Why should you take down the rest as well, if they have nothing to do with my _so_ unacceptable existence?”

Showing anger and doubt was something one should avoid to throw over excepted Deities, but Stiles could not care the slightest. Their procedure of punishing someone through their innocent surroundings, whether they were connected to that person or not, was just wrong, even for pampered Deities who could do whatever they felt like.

Shortly after thinking all that, though, he was consumed by the fear and the helpless feeling of his disability to fight that unfair merciless, and he forced himself to calm himself down. The thought of the possibility of all this turning to be a nothing but pathetic, useless attempt concerned him again

In that rate, he might have better chance to talk to Apollo through an Ouija board.

“Okay, so it's my fault I didn't search good enough about how you gods do negotiations, but _come on_ , I made enough sacrifice for all that offering to have you show yourself! Do you know what it was to get into that health-food store and buy all those zen leaves, when the workers there _know_ me for shopping there for my Dad? Now I'll have to find everything in the supermarket, when they don’t give a shit about their customers’ blood disorders, 'cause I'll never be able to show my face there again! If my Father's health will be ruin because of you, then I _swear_  -– “

“ -– Ironic, coming from my Half-Brother.”

Stiles was startled, and the way he almost fell forward into the fire before realizing that backwards, where his ass was, was better, only worse that high-pitch sound that came from his mouth. Not that it was a shriek; it definitely was _not_ , alright? His voice tended to lose some of his natural lower-keyed voice when he was surprised, but it was not to an extent where you could refer to it as something like _that_.

Meanwhile, the one to cause all that was observing at him with an unapologetically amusement. The figure did not have a shiny skin, neither there was any kind of Aura around him nor a charming chorus tune, but even without looking at the large body size -– perhaps two and a half meters tall -– Stiles still knew without a doubt, almost _sensed_ that fact, that there was something out of this world in him, and not in the alien way.

The well-built male wore a traditional ancient Greek cloth, a chiton, and had a real-life version of commercial-typical flowing, blueish hair, that was long enough to pass the long neck and reach the shoulders. It was terrible -– and also wonderful -– how nature was able to _own_ photoshop so good, even while making people think that the ultimate beauty was one which nature was smart enough to not create.

His eyes had a special shade as well, of greenish yellow- only Stiles somehow wanted to argue it was not the most amazing one he had ever witnessed. Nothing could make him admit that the speciality of Lydia Martin’s was beatable, not even the stunning looks of the one who was crafted in the very heavens.

(There was a thought in the back of the mind, which in his effort to not acknowledge it Stiles was able to finally get out of his trance state; a thought about the eyes, who also looked too good to evenly compete with other eyes of humans- which his ego quickly shoved away, to his great relief.)

He licked his lips, and was glad the Deity's look did not affect him. He had to be immune, because even if he had not started to be aware more than ever of his attraction to guys during the recent year –- even though he was still too unexperienced to be able to define that yet, especially with his focus staying mainly on Lydia -– he was sure that no one could stay apathetic by the one who literally had its name being written in the dictionary next to the definition of the word _beauty_.

Even if the thought he should feel anything about the Deity’s appearance made him uncomfortable.

Although, it may have to do with what he had said.

“You consider me as a _relative_?” Stiles asked, surprised, as he got on his legs and removed as much dirt as he could off of his clothes.

“Since Hermes and Athena acknowledged Perseus as their brother, I guess I have no choice but doing it myself as well,” Apollo shrugged. “Especially as you're his descendant.”

Stiles got so confused that he stopped patting his pants, freezing. “What do you mean?”

The Deity raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you not been told your Mother was Perseus' Grandchild?”

“But how? Didn’t he live during much more ancient times?”

“Most of the stories you know have happened much later than you know. They are fitted in this era in history, where we were still connected to the mortal world, to glorify it.”

Making everyone think so many things had happened in a certain period of history just to make the era where people still worship the Deities to look better? It was so stupid.

But Stiles could not care, because all he could focus on at that moment of was the thumps of his heart in his ears, as it was beating so loudly by the knowledge that the blood it was pumping was the same as freaking _Perseus_ himself.

Who would have believed that his previously not-talked-about, so-called boring Polish side had such cool personages? It did not even matter that there was a chance they were talking about the same person who possessed a name like _Mieczys_ _ł_ _aw_ , and by that was responsible for Stiles being screwed with his loyalty to his Mother. Who could care about that when it did not seem so much like a burden anymore, considering Stiles had also herniated that legendary sharp tongue that Perseus was famous of having; a deadly skill, sharper than his own sword, and which had nothing to do to being the son of-

“Wait, but that also means Zeus- and my Mum- ” Stiles shook his head, feeling sick. “Oh _gross_.”

Apollo chuckled. “Does that really come so much as a surprise to you? After all, Perseus himself had a paternal connection to Poseidon, and a maternal one to Zeus, too.”

“I’m not surprised or anything, because it’s a very classic for… not-so-mythical-anymore figures like you to do, and especially him, but why with my _Mum_? It’s a modern age, so out of everyone you would expect Zeus, the _freaking ruler of the gods,_ to know that it can bring, like, zillion diseases to the children, right? Now I have to remember to never have kids myself.” Another shiver of disgust went through Stiles’ body; why did Zeus had to love his family _that much_? “Can we talk about something else now?”

Apollo narrowed his eyes in a warning gesture, and his tone not so welcoming anymore. “Although it has been long since someone made an offering to me, the only reason I have shown myself here was this. You better respect your origins.”

Stiles suddenly recalled what it was all about. He really had no time to waste if he wanted to convey his message as best as he could, so he would not forget to mention any points he wanted to make. If only being a child to a Deity meant not having ADHD as well.

“Right, sorry. Um, so what do you say about a little deal? From now on I’ll show _much_ more respect for you, and in return -– “

“ -– I hear you defeated a Gigante recently with a broken arrow,” Apollo interjected suddenly, casually folding his arms as he seemed to forget all about the dark attitude with how sincerely impressed that he was about that fact.

“Yeah, nice to know it made enough noise to get to your ears,” Stiles muttered. It was flattering to have it being acknowledged, but he would have to save that talk for later. “So anyway, about -– “

“ -– For a good reason. Your archery skills are admirable, if I do say so myself.” Even as the Deity of Archery, it was astounding that he would find that subject so interesting to raise it twice, instead of the reason he knew Stiles had originally called him for.

Instead of being annoyed by that, though, Stiles snorted in response, because being given that kind of a compliment grated on his ear too much to just ignore it. “You just say that because you’ve never met Allison, she's the real archer between the two us,” Then Stiles looked down for a few seconds, adding mostly to himself: “Although I heard she recently has started to prefer daggers.”

Stiles thought about it a lot of times, and still did not know what to make out of it, really.

He had not been there to witness it himself, and only heard about how she attacked the three Betas in an even more viciously manner than the time she had fought against them while protecting Lydia. Even a few months later, it seemed too incomprehensible; so far from her badass-but-still-sweet-by-heart image.

Ultimately, as a loyalty-to-family-above-all type of person himself, he identified with her transition to stick with her family’s side. Her Mother may not have been a good, righteous person at all- but as her Daughter, it was understandable that Allison had _that_ easily chose to believe to whatever she had been told about the events which had led to that incident of the death. Putting himself in her shoes, Stiles could see how she agreed to work _beside_ the Kanima at some point; even after struggling with them to put an end to it, it had never attacked anyone she could still let herself trust.

Only, none of that could excuse her agreement to work under Gerard; that was just a _completely_ another thing. She still had had to question some of his morals, trying to talk about him against it, or to at least try to convince him to do it in another way.

Stiles was glad she came back into her senses at the end, and could never hate her for those misdeeds- but it was hard to not feel a little disappointed by how quick she had given in to a brainwash by a lunatic like him. No matter how hurt she had been by her Mother’s death- Stiles had always believed she had been much better than joining forces with someone with such a radical point of view, just because it could give her the results she had wanted. Not when such lack of misjudgment could have led her to want to hurt Scott at some point, or even end it in a worse way. She had ignored, even embraced those risks only for the sake of revenge, because that what her Mother would have believed to be the right thing to do.

Could _he_ have loved his Mother that much, had she had the same values as Victoria?

And yet, in spite of all that, Stiles’ heart ached when he considered the possibility of Allison not interacting with them anymore. Not only she was so important to his best friend, in a level of being his anchor- but Stiles himself missed her too, even if he had never had the chance to get close to her that much. She was so brilliant, quirky and lovable, and had always taken him seriously, whether he had brought up an idea or had portrayed as a running replacement to a disposable phone.

All in all, he understood her need to take time away from all of them, even while knowing how much of her fault it was. Maybe that break was necessary, in some way, for Scott, too.

And as for Stiles, well- he anyway had enough things to completely fill his schedule as for that moment- like talking with Greek gods, apparently.

Stiles blinked back to reality when he heard Apollo humming a light laugh. He was smiling at him with a strange smile.

“Brighten up, will you? There is no need to have your face down. I came all the way here only because it is something worthy enough for me to listen to. And not in vain, as killing a Gigante is something even immortals do not find simple to do. This accomplishment, along with your bravery in a fight against those who are worse than wolves, those who are part of Lycaon’s Ancestry, proves that you would make a great Spartiates.”

“ _Lycaon’s Ancestry_?” Stiles repeated through a snort. “Is that so hard for you to just refer to them as Werewolves?”

Apollo looked surprised for a moment by that reaction, but relaxed again into his elegant pose quickly. “Even with wolves as my sacred animal, I cannot see any marvel in them. As beautiful as, just like Lycaon’s daughter, Kalisto, to whom even Zeus could not resist- it is bizarre that you do not mind associating with them at all.”

“Maybe because they're my _friends_? Or at least one of them is, I’m still working on making the others too. How do you gods don’t get bored with having no friendships?” Stiles raised his hand as soon as he finished the question; he could give in to the Deity’s will to be the only one to control the subject of the conversation. “No- don't answer. Ugh, for someone who doesn't bother to talk with others unless it’s worth it, you distract very easily.”

Apollo shrugged. “If something interests me, I am not going to avoid it.”

Stiles motioned his hand pointedly at the Deity. “And _that_ sums up about any decision you and the other gods have ever made, and also explains why Zeus never interfered in anything you sent after me.”

The Deity looked like he was dangerously getting bored, though he did not loosen his friendly smile. “As I believe Galinthias already explained to you, it is only Hera who tries to get in your way.”

Stiles shifted his weight between his legs, not sure if he was feeling uncomfortable for suddenly realize that it could be possible for the Deities to listen to every conversation they wanted. “So I don't really know how it works, but I really hope she doesn't hear you right now.”

Apollo shrugged again. “She does not. Everything comes to our attention eventually, though, and her hate towards you is not much of a secret. Hera already knows you're aware of the affair, and that you wish to prove you're worthy of being absolved.”

If Stiles could, he would roll his eyes all the way to Hera's seat in the sky and right back to earth. “You’ve got to be _kidding_ me. There are so many things going on in this town just because I live here by a chance. I mean, if it was New York, and millions of people died because some sea monster was sent after me, would it still worth it?”

The bluenette raised his chin with a devilish smirk, as though even lack of knowledge could not excuse such fate-challenging words. “Being a justice seeker is fine, but if you take that pride too far, you shall get burnt.”

So no bad words about the Deities unless you were one. Right.

Apollo’s grin brightened up again. “I shall forget your criticism of the Deities, and tell you that which you wish to hear: Only favoured heroes deserve to have their locality protected by the Deities.”

 _Heroes_.

The fate of everyone he had ever known -– an entirety of suffering by the Deities -– in opposing of being forever forgiven: all on his far-from-heroic shoulders.

He would do anything for his loved ones, even things he knew he could not pull through during critical situations, but that was the thing: It was the one time he could find a use in his exaggerated self-confident, the same one that pushed him to take the most dangerous and most idiotic decisions; no, it was even more than that- he finally needed it. So why it was that moment, unlike in others ones, that he suddenly could not find it in himself to believe he could do it?

He looked down at his knees, the ones who shook just by hearing the Alpha roaring at him.

Even if he did not have the fitting courage for this, he was going to fake it as much as it needed until it was big enough.

“So how do I do it?” He swallowed, making himself to look straight into the Deity’s eyes. “How do I prove myself to be a hero?”

“Hera plans to get you through more obstacles, and facing you with further battles, until you meet your failure. She is wary of taking the trouble in transporting the tests them to you, and so, from now on, you shall be led to them. If you get through all of them, you shall receive the glory a hero deserves.”

Although he still considered the thought process of the Deities to be incredibly foolish, and even childish- it was a deal Stiles intended to take. “As long as it’s far from others, I’m down with it.”

“I believe she has already conversed with one of her envoys. Through the mediator she has chosen, you shall follow her instructions.”

Stiles stared at him expectantly, waiting for directions- until Apollo reached to him, and hand-flicked on his forehead.

“ _Ow_! What was _that_ for?” Stiles whined as he rubbed the painful spot.

And whichever reason it was for- he was a _Deity_. Should it not be unappropriated for him to use dirty tricks like that?

“Now you know where to find the mediator,” the Deity replied simply, obviously indifferent to Stiles’ pain.

Stiles furrowed his brows, trying to look for some new information that got into his head, but found nothing. “You’re right. Yeah, thanks, I _totally_ know where it is now. I’m picturing it in my mind right now as we speak.”

“I have written a map into your instincts,” Apollo said what he apparently found as an absolute providing, proper explanation, as he only stared back while Stiles waited to some expansion.

Stiles turned impatient by the moment. “Is there a way to activate those… _instincts_?”

“Once you wish to get there, you shall lead yourself.”

That sounded to Stiles about as logical as Derek being obsessed over romantic comedies.

“Well, I’m wishing for it right now, and guess what? _Nothing_! How can I drive without knowing which turn to take? Is it a permanent thing, like, can I forget it all of a sudden? How are you sure they won't move until I reach there? And how was it _really_ necessary to hurt me?”

Apollo seemed confused for a second by the spate of questions, but then decided to answer all of them, according to order.

“As I said, you shall know which turn to take once you let your body decide for you where to go; Yes, it is permeant; No, the mediator is not expected to move anywhere, not in his condition.” The Deity grew his smile just a little as he lastly added, “I could pass it through a kiss, too, but I’ll save it for a better time.”

Stiles swallowed, staring at the slowly dying fire. If there was something to still make it hard for him to believe it was all real, then it was that last comment.

On a more serious note- how could any of that be real? Was he really going to fetch monsters, all by himself, starting from tomorrow?

Running into danger and combating with a monster, when he did it aside from his friends, was one thing; but even though he hated how much Derek almost had not let him join the fight because he was not ready- could he really take another ginormous monster, all by himself?

“A true hero must always be a beautiful symbol of strength,” Apollo suddenly noted. “That what I have always believed. It is especially true if you are a son of Zeus and of his succession. Once you catch the attention of the rest of the Deities, Hera shall be pressured to stop. No Deity who hurts a real Hero would be looked favourably upon. As long as you remember that, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, if you could give me your blessing I would be calmer.” Stiles swung his hands at his sides a little, trying to look as innocent as he could.

“Blessing is traditionally given only through the direct bloodline.”

“Oh, come on!” Stiles threw his hands in the air in protest. “But we _are_ family! Half-Bros forever, right?”

“If it is an incentive which you are interested in, then I allow you to play on my lyre.” Apollo pulled the said musical instrument from his back, and showed to Stiles, who felt his throat getting drier.

“I… I’ll pass.”

Apollo did not seem to wonder about that reaction, which made Stiles feel even more uncomfortable with the everyone-knows-everything phenomenon that was going on in the Olympus.

“I leave the offer open in case you regret,” Apollo said. “During your youth, you have impressed me with your musical skills, almost as much as with your archery ones.”

Stiles closed his eyes, wishing there was a cool air he could breathe in. Mental breakdown in front of a Deity was an even less ideal thing than all the indignities he had been through so far.

“Let’s just say that I really don’t wish to play anymore.”

Apollo hummed. “As you wish. At any rate, we expect great things from you.”

Stiles opened his eyes to see the empty space that was left behind after the Deity disappeared. It was just like he hallucinated the whole thing because of the scent of those burnt leaves.

He did not have time to wonder about that, though, nor being invested in bad memories.

Once the fire was completely put out, Stiles turned towards his house to get the keys, and went to his Jeep.

-

He put his hands on the steering wheel, but it did not feel like any magic was about to happen. He still had full control over his body, which was _great_ , of course- but he still expected a voice to whisper the address inside his mind, or being able to see invisible arrows in the air pointing the right way for him.

Even when he started driving, pretending he was going on a casual ride with no destination, he was overthinking so much the entire drive, that every time he would arrive at an intersection, he only passed it after the cars behind him honked. Even when he could only turn, it was always to the right, just because it was the easiest way to turn to, unless it was a one-way road.

Cursing under his breath, he wondered what would Derek think about that whole situation; he probably would have shouted at him, even though Stiles had any right to be clueless. If his Sister had not eaten him alive by that point, that was. He hoped they got along better than it had seemed, and were brooding happily in the silence of the Loft at that moment.

It was when he finally got his head out of the clouds, he blinked a few times as he suddenly found himself parking next to the entrance of _Beacons Crossing Home_.

Flashbacks from the last times he had been there hit him. Why _of course_ his thoughts had had to drift off to _Derek_ , someone who had nothing to do with any of this, and who would cause his instincts, subconscious or whatever it was to lead him to _that_ place.

Something in him hoped it was the wrong place, just because of the little chance the mediator could turn out to be Peter -– faking once again a slow healing body and hospitalizing himself -– and at the same time he was afraid he had just wasted Apollo’s charm because of thoughts on the wrong guy.

If only he could see Apollo as the hotter than the sun -– that some believed he was connected to -– that he was, so he would have no reason to get distracted by-

Groaning at the realization that he was procrastinating even more because of the very same guy, he locked off the Jeep and made his way into the detestable building.

Walking down the same corridors, he suddenly wished he _could_ think about the bloody Alpha instead of recall the days he still had had only blue eyes to flash at his Uncle; how he had had to crawl his injured body away from Stiles, leaving him a room to escape like the chicken he was back to his Jeep.

What difference was there at this point, when Derek had just sacrificed himself once more for his sake?

Stiles was screwed. _Everyone_ was so fucking screwed.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, trying to steady his breath. When he snapped them open, he stood by the end of the corridor, in front of a closed door with a sign reading _A151_.

Was this a part of the directions Apollo had weaved into his brain?

Well, like they said- one way to find out.

Opening the door, he recognized the person in a wheelchair who was inside immediately. Just like Peter’s, a lot of time should pass before he could forget this face, perhaps even beyond the day where he would have to check in into that kind of place himself.

Suddenly, all the thoughts he had had about Allison became irrelevant at once, because he was about to sin in an even worse way. And he had no shame to remind himself of those opinions because of the very fact that he _knew_ ; he had known all freaking along.

To Stiles’ shaken face -– which twitched a little with the urge to touch where there previously had been a bruise –- Gerard Argent offered the kind of smile only a true maniac could have.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/167340908076/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-5r.com)


	6. Chapter 6

The room smelt the least of medications out of all those Stiles had passed by in the corridor, and yet the mere sight of the one waiting for him inside -– or more correctly _what_ was there, because he was not human anymore, not that he had been entirely before the bite –- made him more sick and chocked than any kind of stench.

All Stiles wanted was to run out of there, only, unfortunately to him- his conscience was stronger than the obstacles which his bad luck put in front of him time and time again. That was how he found himself not only entering the small space he had to share now with the detestable man, but also closing the door behind him- even though it just increased the sensation of the walls closing in on him, making the distance between them even smaller.

Unlike him, Gerard looked comfortable as ever in his wheelchair, and showed no sign he even needed to be acquired with one. He did not wear hospital pyjamas, but with the dried, black nasal mucus which dirtied his nostrils, there was no doubt he belonged in a residential care facility.

“I’m glad to see you are finally given the proper treatment to your age,” Stiles commented. His face instinctively twitched at the memory of the pain which he had used to have while talking -– even if it had been two months since he had last felt that –- something which was caused by that very same man.

The thin line of Gerard’s mouth crooked upward. “Mister Stilinski, the ever presumptuous. May I remind you what happened last time when you looked down on me?”

Stiles had to close his fists even harder to not be tempted to touch the healed area on his face. After managing to save a small part of his dignity from that day where he had been punched by the old man, it was now officially dead, as it was clear Gerard had been aware of his impractical immense strength.

He took a big breath and wore the best brave face he could draw upon himself anyway as he spoke back.

“I came to check if the rumours about you recently meeting a certain unordinary individual were true. I wasn’t surprised the slightest to find that you two get along, of course, considering the hobby of both of you to take revenge in people who had never actively interfered in your life, even if other innocents would die in your way to the goal.”

Even though he had no idea just how the alliance happened, that fact was perhaps the one Stiles found the easiest to believe, out of everything that he had been told so far. After all, Gerard had not only carried close to him a copy of the Bestiary -– the possibly most extensive source of precise information about the unnatural world -– but seemed to also be aware of everything documented in it, and especially to know how to implement the darkest of the ideas that came to his mind from it, even when it stood against his own principles.

The look in the cold eyes of the veteran Hunter got as close as it could get to being lightened. “Then you’d be happy to hear that I work for her for some time now. Ever since Zeus has announced his vow, to be more precise.”

Stiles turned puzzled. “What vow?”

Gerard lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, haven’t the little polecat lady told you? During the time of your Mother’s pregnancy, he vowed that his next descendant would stand on the top of the greatest dominance which authorizes the supernatural. With another, undirected descendant, being born earlier than it was supposed to be naturally, I’m sorry to tell you that this position was taken from you, even if you would be rewarded in another way.”

Stiles frowned. He did not entirely understand all of that, but he knew that it was significant enough for Gale to mention this. How could she forget to tell him about it?

At any rate- was that why Hera had been so obsessive with him? Why would she care when she had such control over supernatural beings that she even made a Gigante, son of a Titan, to dig all that way up to the surface just for Stiles? While Derek had been the leader of the battle, they still managed to overcome him anyway.

Unless she was aware of that potential, that she feared Stiles even more than Gerard was implying, and wanted him entirely dead.

Stiles finally let himself to smile. “I bet that I wasn’t supposed to be born in the first place, but then came that _little polecat lady_ out of nowhere and ruined your plans. Sucks, huh? And by the way, I’m not interested in being the ruler of whatever it is that you’re talking about. The fact that  _you_ are interested in this proves that beyond any doubt for me.  I mean, I _do_ care what kind of leader you secretly train, with how you twisted Allison just to slam her back to the ground, but I doubt that anyone can be better than someone who has the support of a _goddess_ , even if she’s the most ridiculous of them. And look where that kind of person ended at.”

Gerard breathed in deeply, his weirdly black nostrils expanding. “Unfortunately, I am as disappointed in her as you are these days. Let's say we have a couple of favours we’ve done for one another over the years, but due to the recent events, she decided to abandon me. A Kanima's master was something she just could not support."

“Wasn’t it enough of a hint for you, to have a _goddess_ being disgust with your ways?”

Gerard raised his chin high. “Not even a lightning that hits me right here, right now by the head of the Deities himself would make me regret a single thing I’ve done in my life.”

He started coughing then, spitting into a tissue a dark, thick fluid with the same colour that went through his nose. The whole inner of Gerard’s mouth was soiled with it- a constant layer on his teeth which disgustedly shined to the small light in the room. Stiles realized that the same black ooze that Werewolves sometimes produced instead of blood might be the only kind of fluid he had in his body.

“Well, they definitely did punish you for it,” Stiles stared nodded sarcastically. He gradually felt less restless, enough to notice the can which was almost full of used, blackened tissues. “Maybe there _is_ a hope to find a little sense and justice up there, after all. Although, the fact you were tolerated, to begin with… I have no idea what is there in her that she is still able to do that, but whatever it is, it only makes me look forward to a moment where I have to meet her even less.”

He wished Scott and the rest would have been there to witness that, or at least being able to document it in a way that would not risk a refusal of Gerard to tell him whatever Hera considered as necessary acts towards reconciliation. It was a shame, though; he bet it would have cracked a smile even on Derek’s face.

Gerard coughed more of the black goo as he laughed. “You really think you know what you are dealing with just because you were born to one of them? It will take a lot more of that. They may not be as absolute as you have been told on the monotheist god, but they are still Deities nonetheless.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d actually listen closely to your bits of advice, but I seriously prefer to take the risk and deal with them by my own ignorance. Now if you’ll be so kind to tell me what I really came to hear, like the message I believe was left for me?”

Gerard took his time before he talked, wiping his nose as more. He was too professional to let Stiles’ words affect him, yet his expression became unpleased as he could not argue with a true fact.

“I don’t know how frequent were your visits to your so-called Grandparents from your so-called Father’s side, but I hope you came to love keeping company to old people, because it seems that you are going to see those wrinkled, yet miraculously as-alive-as-it-can-get face for quite a few times in your less full-of-life future which you are doomed to. And before you say this is incomparable- my Mother Zeus’ daughter, and I made sure to maintain the lineage through the generations, though none of them was with Perseus’ descendants. Hopefully the other will follow suit- whether through marriage, or even through gamete donations.”

With Perseus’ history, Stiles would not be surprised if they had some relation from _older_ generations. Only the fact Zeus’ blood flew in both of them was enough to disgust him to his core.

Stiles shook his head. “Zeus’ grandson maintaining the lineage. Figures. But with that dog-breeding vibes, it’s kinda ironic you didn’t get both Hunters jokes _and_ dog’s ones.” Huh, maybe that’s why Hera had gone out of her habit and befriended a Zeus offspring, suiting a certain word for her even better. “Anyway, just spit out the _real_ news already.”

Gerard made one of those rumbly hums of his, seemingly just for good measure, before he finally started.

“There have been plenty of Demigods who won the Deities’ mercy by fulfilling their potential to have successful lives, which they eventually dedicated to one or more patrons. You, on the other hand, grow to be as nuisance as Perseus. Hera took notice of that, and asked me to prepare a few tasks for you –- or missions, if you will -– to let you properly gain the title of a hero which you so passionately chase after.”

Stiles felt the blood in his veins freezing in terror. “You- _You’re_ going to decide who I’ll face against?”

With the upper hand back on his side, Gerard showed off his sardonic smile. “I cannot say it was hard to agree to the offer. After all, I _do_ have a list of quite a few assignments which are either too dangerous to give to my people, or were simply too impossible for them to ever complete them. With the benefit you possess, you are the perfect opportunity to test them profoundly without the risk losing people, or wasting any supplies of weapons or money.”

It all made sense now; Hera had not sent the Gigante only to ensure his death, or because she had predicted Stiles would find a way to get away from the Alphas- but because she had intended from the start to wipe out the other Werewolves for Gerard, at the same time.

And since the original plan, to let others take care of that, had not worked…

Stiles released a half-crazed laugh. “You know what, I’ll just take the same attitude as you do. Hera can take me with whatever stupid powers she has, right here, right now- but there’s still no way I’d hurt any of them. Come on, there has to be something else for me to do! They are already in danger with their own issues- even with the little chance for them all to get out alive, it _still_ has to enough to not send me to them as well!”

“Oh, but I had no intention at all to make you go against your dear friends.”

“You… You didn’t?” Stiles blinked in surprise, then cleared his throat. “I mean, not that it should be a food for thought or anything. No reason at all, with the _much_ better thing you did plan for me. That best, most cruelly genius idea ever you were just about to tell me.”

Behind the new piece of tissue he was staining, Gerard’s smile just became more and more slyly. “Like you said, it would be a waste to use you for what is weak enough to get itself eliminated eventually on its own.”

Stiles snorted. “It sure takes you long enough to bring them down, as someone who claims that defeating them would be a child’s play.”

It was weird how defending the honour of Derek’s pack was not driven only by personal pleasure in making another joke about the merciless man, but also from almost the place of _pride_. They had worked as a group, and would continue to do so in the near future -– in case Stiles read their last encounter correctly -– but he kept reminding himself that Werewolves experienced that kind of things differently.

Sure, it was possible to share their count on people outside their pack, but to feel a need to argue in favour of someone’s name? Derek would have surely get angry with him for behaving like that and making others believe he was part of them.

“I knew Scott would never be able to think of such a plan with limited sources on his side,” Gerard tried to justify himself as well. “Had I known the Emissary could make him blurt the case of my cancer, and build from that little detail the perfect right plans, I would not have used him. I guess I did wrong in thinking highly of you comparing to him, with your lack of sources. Now I’m the one in that place, with the doctors not being able to explain _this_.”

He completed the sentence just in time to enter another coughing attack. This time he did not prepare for it enough, though, and his shirt sweater was tainted. Stiles was going to take comfort in that as much as he could.

“The past’s place is in the past,” Gerard said at last, one he spat enough fluid out of his mouth to speak again. “What we should focus on, instead, is the Mountain’s Lion.”

Stiles tried a couple of times to tell himself to accept the moment of something ordinary, from the normal world, being thrown in his way for once, but could not. “I hope it’s a code name for something _else_ , because we have just talked about Werewolves. Unless your age is finally catching up with you.”

“In case my memory does not betray me, unlike what you claim, I have been serious through this entire conversation and I am not planning to change my method. Yes, it is an actual Mountains’ Lion.”

Stiles stared at him with confusion, both because of the illogicalness and the weird way Gerard insisted to refer to the animal. “So what _do_ you mean by it?”

“Exactly the same image you see in your head: a big, wild cat. The largest mammal predator you can find in North America. Whichever way you would prefer to call it.”

The nonsense talks of the _hopefully_ former head of the biggest Hunter family talk drove Stiles crazy. He sighed in irritation, giving in to the urge to rub his face, even though he had planned to not expose Gerard to his frustrations.

He had a good reason to almost lose it, though: mind games that were meant to bring his spirit down were expected, but he could not think of a single logical reason to what Gerard was trying to accomplish here.

“A mountain lion? That’s it? That’s all there is on the mission?”

“It attacked quite a few unlucky hikers, as I heard. The authorities don’t have any idea how to catch him. I say it’s about time for someone to show up and put an end to this.”

He wanted to laugh out loud, could not contain the irony of suddenly being asked to help hunting -– of all things -– an actual Mountain Lion, and not a rogue Alpha.

No matter how many times it was repeated, there was no way Stiles had heard it right.

“You really expect me to believe you took so many painkillers that you suddenly give a shit about wild nature, or that Hera would let a drugged old-timer manage her business?”

“Hey there now, there is no need to panic. If I were you, I would be delight it is not something much worse, and I believe you already had in your minds an idea or two.”

“Sorry that I can’t be thankful for so much bullcrap being said by you.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this is still the same hard truth as I kept telling you all along. You can always refuse to take the offer and deal with the circumstances, if that is what you prefer.”

Stiles closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. Every word that came from Gerard’s mouth boiled his blood more and more, but it was Stiles’ own fault for stop keeping himself serious.

He had to remember the reason he came here for, his promise to himself to take whatever it was in order to stop the effect his presence had on his surroundings.

Even if it was going to turn him into a Hunter, which had just as much danger in it.

He looked back at Gerard and swallowed. “No, it’s fine. Just tell me what to do.”

Gerard nodded, and did not bother to cover the fact he was enjoying himself. _Asshole_.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get a message to your phone regarding the address. One of my people will wait for you there, and give you further instructions. This process will repeat every week with each new task, with ten of them in total, and the deadline of a week to perform them will renew itself each time. Most of the times, there will be inspectors waiting for you to examine the proof of your success, unless you will be told otherwise.”

Stiles smiled to himself. “In other words, I should not expect to leave town during the whole summer.”

“If in your teenage eyes that is the real sacrifice, then it still means you do your job in proving yourself heroic.”

Stiles returned the man the hardest gaze he could gain- showing that complaining was an old habit back from the period he only knew of his Polish origin, but he was going to respect his ancient Greek side by not chickening out of a battle, especially not for a shallow reason.

Gerard offered his hand to him then, and Stiles looked at it shortly before returning the other man a skeptic look.

“Do I really have to shake your hand to take the deal?”

“No, but it is a gesture whose origin is believed to be in the time of ancient Greece. Don’t you think that making things official like that would be symbolic?”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him and turned around to leave the room, keeping hand hanging as a symbolic act of his own.

“I’ve been watching you,” Gerard stopped Stiles before he could make it to the door, “and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Your true nature has made waves for a long time now, but this is as far as you are going to be known. I was truly touched by your pure innocent, which made you believe that you on your own were enough to survive all that you’ve been through. The belief that it was possible for you to have no need for some kind of aid to deal with it all, the one your divine side provided you. Accept the truth- if it wasn’t for your luck to be a son of Zeus himself, you would not have gotten this far. Your pathetic self alone in the human world would have been enough to destroy you. You are not as legendary as you think yourself to be, _Alcaeüs_.”

Even with another series of ugly coughs following that statement, the impact stayed the same.

He did not trust himself enough to control his temper, which kept him withholding from saying something back.

All of those words were the same ones he had already told himself for quite a few times, except he had never related his name to any of that. If he hated the existence of it before, then now he could not _hear_ it at all, even if he was not the one being called.

It was time to make a value of his Mother’s forgotten nickname for him.

-

The following morning, Stiles woke up for the last training day for that week, when he suddenly was hit with the astonishing realization that it had been an entire week since Derek had brought him to the Loft.

Like with every phase they had had that year, it had passed in a blast. And still, something felt different this time, though not just because Scott was not in the picture, or because he discovered his identity and spoke to a freaking _Deity_.

He supposed a lot of it had to do with Derek, who, for a change, let him work side by side with him. There was a lot to improve when it came to their communication and their ability to reach a compromise – even if Stiles would keep insisting that Derek was the one who had a lot more to, which, admittedly, did not make him look any better – but they anyway were about to have quite a few chances to practice at this together, thanks to the Alpha Pack and the long summer that they surely planned for them.

Oh, and what a different _summer_ they were going to have.

Stiles had thought before about how his life was going to be from now on, after his best friend had become a Werewolf; how the word normal suddenly had a whole new meaning. But he had never gotten to those little details, like how he barely felt the usual environment of a summer vacation at that point, where he was supposed to only be vaguely aware of the current dates, or even the _days of the week_. What kind student was he, that he could tell that the current day was Friday?

If the rest of the summer would keep going like that, it would seriously be a disaster.

Then he recalled Gerard’s words to his comment from the previous night, and shook that last thought off. Being a teenager did not matter now, only to confuse the Deities enough with those… _Labours_ , or whatever fake title Gerard had put to them, so they would be stupefied enough to consider him a hero.

Finishing all the necessary arrangement that had to be done in his room, he ran into his Father in the hall.

“Come on, Stiles, you’re too old for scolding you about running in the house.” The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at him grumpily, looking as though he was about to reach the level of tiredness where he would not be able to communicate in any way clearer than mumbling. Stiles selfishly wished it was the case, so he could have sneaked out easier.

“Sorry, Dad. You know I tend to lose my head when I’m in a hurry.”

He passed by him, trying his best to not let his stress show before he got to the safety of the first floor- only to be stopped by his Father again.

“This is new, you’re never awake at those hours during summer, let alone getting out of the house. Is there anything I need to know?”

Of course he was going to let him know everything that he discovered eventually, but at that point it was just too early. He could not let himself have something to stand in his way to those ten Labours, unless it was about the other threat on the town by the Alphas. A threat which could solve the other problem much quicker, of course, if it would have a certain end to it.

Stiles thought about the letter he left underneath his pillow, and hoped he would be able to settle this in the longer way.

He swallowed. “Um, well- Oh yeah, I was planning on telling you. I and Scott are going to -- “

“ -- You mean planning to _ask for_ _permission_ ,” his Father corrected him, and at that point, he seemed to be tired for another reason besides the long hours of work. “You’re still under my authorization, thanks to our state’s law, even if you have kept forgetting it since you’ve been ten years younger than that age.”

Shit; Stiles did not think enough of how to convince his Father to let him go. He could not deal with yet another problem now.

“Come _on_ , Dad! It’s only a camping trip, just this weekend.”

“Is that why you made that fire pit in our backyard?”

Stiles cursed himself again. He had forgotten to clean the altar up.

“Yeah, I was, uh, practising. I know I’m gonna use rocks on the trip itself, but I just wanted to, you know, try doing it in advance in a safe setting.”

“I don’t mind as long as you’ll remove it from there,” the Sheriff yawned. “I’m too exhausted right now to find in my head a good argument against it, so just make sure to save the next weekend for me. I’d like to see you more times than randomly bumping into you during the week, if I’m lucky. And do your best to not get into troubles, which is not that obvious for you, for whatever reason.”

Guilty yet washed with relief at the same time, he raised his thumb up, winking at him with a nod. “Just like always.”

“Do not, _at any mean_ , act like you always do,” the Sheriff pointed a finger at him in return, and Stiles waited for him to close his room’s door behind him before hurrying downstairs once again.

Stiles tried not to mind about the ache in his chest, the one which was caused by the thought of going behind his Father’s back with the issue he had asked him, more firmly than anything else, to never deal with. And yet he had dared to feel upset about something trivial as a wasted summer, even if it was just a way to ignore the more serious problems.

He did not have time to regret, though, not when he was in a point where even a heartbreaking disappointed look felt like something he could live with. It was not like he had had a reputation for a good, or even decent son to keep instead of starting with that, anyway.

But even while knowing all of that, it was still hard to swallow his breakfast down.

-

He got the text message from an irrational number, which simply sent him a link to a destination on Google Maps. Although it was within California, it was located a couple of hours away from Beacon Hills, and _that_ was not a possibility he was aware of.

Was he really expected to spend so much money on gas? He did not know if it was another intentional obstacle, but he was going to talk to Gerard about that for sure once he returned from that one.

Stiles tried to be thankful that at least he was not sent to the middle of the desert where there were not even rods, let alone that it was on _land_ , because who could know where he was going to be sent to at other times.

Thankfully, he had seen the message during the short break Finstock gave him, so by the end of the practice he remembered to make a whole mess while carrying the equipment back to the Coach’s office. Only receiving yells over the other’s shoulder in return, as expected, Stiles managed sneaking under his shirt a couple of arrows- and that time he made sure to count more than three, where all of them were _whole_.

The bow itself he may or may not forgot to get out of his bag and return to the case in purpose.

As he shouldered his bag and started to head outside, he began feeling a little bad about not warning Finstock about the upcoming tense period. He was related to Stiles enough to be in a dangerous position, considering he helped him to get stronger, so he had to make sure he was prepared, just in case.

“So, um, Coach. You see, there are these things that Hera wants me to do so I can get to be called a hero and be left alone, and I’m going to do the first one today. As for now I don’t really know exactly what it means to you, because it’s quite far from here, except the chance that, obviously, I might be late on Monday -– “

The shouts that came afterwards were like a training session of their own, as he had to run as fast as he was probably going to run after the mountain lion later on. He knew that the swears being shot at him were not serious -– after all, not having him back in one piece meant no money from Derek -– but he could not take the risk to stay close to him.

Well, that had to be enough for now, considering the fragile state he had been in since the time Stiles had shirked, which meant that was about as far as he was going to listen to him about that topic. Hopefully, that power would be enough against possible attackers.

Stiles eventually made it home. After a quick shower, he made sure to get a few clothes into the bag he was taking with him, along with water bottles and any kind of food he could carry.

Lucky enough to remember he was trying to convince his Father in the fiction story of packing for a trip, too, he texted Scott and asked him to cover him up with, and only after that entered again to his Jeep, and drove off.

After too much time on the road, including hysterical moments of losing connection to his navigation app- he finally arrived at the destination.

The simple, wooden house, which was clearly made out of the trees surrounded it, stood in an isolated area inside a forest.

Before going out of his Jeep, he decided to take his backpack with the weapons in it with him, just in case, and only then walked up to the entrance door.

He breathed deeply, trying to convince himself he got nothing to fear of, as he had brought along his lucky red hoodie in preparation for the cold nights, and knocked.

The dark-skinned man who opened the door made an impression to be in the same age as Gerard, only in a much worse condition- much skinner and unkempt than the one who was currently a nursing home patient. Stiles wondered whether the two men were indeed from the same generation, or that the man was in such a bad state that he looked much older than he really was.

“I guess you’re Alcaeüs.” The man outstretched his hand to him.

Stiles was _so_ going to kill Gerard once it was over.

“It’s _Stiles,_ and I guess you’re a supernatural beings Hunter who would kill all of my friends if he was given the chance,” Stiles replied with an alike friendly tone, only raising his brows to emphasize the sarcasm in his words. “I wonder if you’d hunt me down, too, if it wasn’t for the gods, unless the sick addiction is only for shapeshifters.”

The man chuckled, taking his hand back as Stiles refused once again to shake hands with a Hunter. “I don’t understand why he tried to warn me about you. It’s so nice to finally have someone with a straightforward attitude like yours after years of his poetic figure of speech. Come inside, we’ll have some tea.”

Stiles followed him inside. “He probably misinformed you, but I came here to be given instructions and get into it right away, not to sit and have a chat.”

“It’s been such a while since I’ve had visitors. Don’t you have compassion for a lonely, old man like me?” The man walked into a small space that the house provided for a kitchen, and prepared water to boil. “I’m Moll, by the way.”

“Not when I have a wild predator on the loose to catch, or when said old person _himself_ don’t have any real concern about people possibly getting hurt by that wild animal, if not worse. Even if you couldn’t hunt it down yourself, and you think I don’t have a reason to hurry to a sure death, listening to you won’t pause the time limit.”

The man turned around, leaning against the cabinet. “Hunting it? I’m a long time retired, if you couldn’t tell by my poor shape. Gerard pitied me enough to still hire me as a watcher of the Mountain’s Lion. There’s not much to do about that monster that you need to get in shape for, anyway.”

“Wait, did you call it a _monster_?” Stiles was relieved there was a significant part of Moll’s story.

“Of course it is, the animal organizations wouldn’t have troubles with it otherwise.”

If the man had not sincerely sounded like he needed the company, after a long time without it- Stiles would have suspected at the point that he was just one of the many teens who had been hallucinated to believe they were a Demigod who needed to prove themselves to be heroes, just to be convinced to come there, out of their own will, and get the monster fed.

“But when I asked Gerard about it, he kept referring to it as a normal animal.”

“Only someone who saw pictures of it can say that, but after observing it once, even from afar, safe distance- you cannot treat it that way.”

“But you stayed here anyway.” Stiles hummed, half-seriously impressed. “Colour me impressed, I never thought I’d see one of you who has an actual courage in him, and not trying to cover their fear with tales of bravery.”

“I’m not young like you, I don’t have a lot of other options to run away to. That’s why I agreed to come here in the first place.”

“Like I agreed to come here, because my young life cannot get destructive enough,” Stiles sighed. He started to lose his patience with every passing moment. “There, you got your small talk. Interesting life. Now can you just tell me how to find it, or give me some tips with your knowledge about it, and just let me go?”

Moll put two steamy cups on the small dining table. “Come on, Stiles. You’ve driven a long way to get here, I bet you’re hungry. You’re right, I know too well what that thing out there is like, and I can’t send you away like that.”

Stiles’ stomach was always a big traitor- demanding too much, especially at the worst timings. Furthermore, he had had serious trouble to fall asleep after the talk with Gerard, and in addition to the practice he had had that morning- his capability to focus was already far from being at its best.

“How can I know this is not part of the test?” Stiles suspected, although his body did not listen to that logic, and he found himself stepping towards the table, as Moll went back to the kitchen.

“While Gerard is a sophisticated man, your case is very different. His rule is not to care about the outcome, but to make sure you won’t get there to begin with. He truly thinks you won’t come back alive. If you do plan to do that, so, you better forget about that time limit and have as much rest as you can beforehand, because it’s going to end faster than you think, whoever will have the upper hand in the end.”

“So what does it mean? Is that you doing me a favour by giving me a last meal, or finishing things off quickly with a poisoned food? You’re part of Gerard’s psychopathic group, active or not; how can I trust you to not pull a move like in _The Princess Bride_ and be immune to the poison in the – ”

His stomach finished that line of that thought as he was given a bowl of soup, and started working on emptying it right away.

If Stiles did fail by letting the man feeding him, then he failed hard. Moll gave him half a minute of silence to be able to enjoy the food before he spoke again, and by then there was close to half of the original amount of liquid and vegetables left in the bowl.

“I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I’m honestly a long-time quitter of that kind of lifestyle,” he sighed, sitting on the chair in front of Stiles. “I’m glad for those years I’ve lived in the woods, where I dedicated all my life for one purpose. But living in nature did me good, brought me get closer to it I won’t leave even if you succeed and put an end to my job. If you told me ten years ago that one day I would regret my path in life, I’d have a good laugh, but I promise you that even people like us can change. Back then I was the kind of man who found it bothersome to raise a family, even if I won’t have anyone to take for me when I’ll need it- and now I’m so in love with life, and glad for every living being I have the right share its beauty with. Even shapeshifters, as long as they have more humanity in them than what I used to barely have.”

He got up from his chair just as Stiles drank the last remaining spoons, and took the bowl so he could refill it, even before Stiles thought to ask for seconds.

“Thank you,” Stiles murmured awkwardly.

It was hard for him to believe that any Hunter -– even a true pensioner -– would keep a straight face while saying points of view like those. They may all require a good acting skill, as proven time and time again, but admitting to be aware of the ability of shapeshifters to control their wild instincts, to have _humanity_ in them- was something that was too odd for them to admit in that kind of situation, when there was no need to.

And even if it _was_ a show, then the set was well designed: the chair that was left for Moll to sit on was three-legged, and suited to the neglected, peeling state of the house around them. It seemed to be a miracle that he still had working electricity generator.

“I cannot say I think the same about that creature out there,” Moll clarified, “but obviously you must never feel any kind of empathy for an animal that was spawned by monsters: no other than Echidna and Typhon themselves, if the stories are true.”

Stiles had a hard time to swallow. “ _Typhon’s_ offspring? Isn’t he, like, the father of all monsters or something like that?”

“Indeed so. No one knows where that monster came from, but at the few years it lived here, it seemed to eat the entire wild population in the forest, with the other half lucky enough to run away. As for now, the human victims have mostly been travellers, but it keeps expanding its hunting area, with the more desperate it becomes for food. The news says that some of the most recent police party that came to search after the victims’ bodies were lost as well.”

Stiles lost his appetite, but forced himself to not waste food. It looked like he made sure to get Stiles full out of pity, after all.

“I’d love to tell you more details about the monster, but it was almost impossible to observe it without being devoured mere moments later,” Moll admitted with a sincere expression. “That creature is huge, much more than the size of the original animal. Its skin is completely bulletproofed, and the best of our traps did not even annoy it. It looks like we’re not as documented as we believe to be, after all.”

“Good thing I brought arrows that killed a Gigante, or at least made him stumble unto the hole he came from, right?” Stiles asked hopefully.

Moll scarcely smiled at him. “I wish I could assure that, but I can only pray for you to be right.”

Perhaps Stiles was wrong in being in a hurry to get there, after all. Who knows what he could have found with his research skills, that the Hunters had not. He could have even found a way to call Gale again and try asking her.

Then again, he _had_ managed to take down a Gigante without being forewarned, just like other heroes from the mythology had defeated their own opponents. If he could not face it with the physical skills he had, then what kind of a hero was he?

A stupid one, maybe, but a lot better than those who busied themselves with overthinking.

“I’ll figure something out when I get there, but I’m doing it anyway,” he eventually declared.

Stiles drank some of his tea and got up. He was placing the bag’s strips on his shoulder when he froze with a thought that popped up in his mind.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

Moll frowned at him, surprised. “Of course.”

“If I’m not back within a day, or 30 hours at max,” Stiles pulled his mobile out of his pocket and brought it near Moll’s place on the table, “could you use my phone and tell my Dad?”

He should not trust him like that, even if he cared enough to feed him- but after hearing about so many people disappearing, and knowing firsthand his Father’s frustration when he could not close cases of people he did not even know, Stiles became too desperate to care. Anything was better than the thought of leaving his Father devastated as he added his son to the peak of the pile of unresolved occasions of death.

Moll nodded at him with a sympatric smile. “Certainly. I’ll make sure to worship your body as good as I can.”

Stiles considered taking a step back at that. “Um, we’re still speaking _hypothetically_ here, right?”

The old man laughed. “Just wanted to test your confidence. Finish that plate up, and then I’ll lead you to the parking lot of the visitors’ area. From there you’ll have to continue south-east, until you get to the spring it usually dwells around. Prepare for a long journey, though you’ll arrive there this day for sure. Everyone knows to stay away from there, so it will leave you completely on your own. But let me give you first some provisions, and cool water.”

“Oh, no, thanks, I already brought some stuff with me,” Stiles hurried to reject the offer.

“I’m sure you did,” Moll got up and walked once again to the kitchen, “but I just want to make sure you have the best supplies with you for a trip in the woods.”

“Uh, fine then,” Stiles murmured perplexedly, and then added more quietly, through a huff, “unless you want to leave some of it for later, as an offering to Zeus, or whatever.”

-

Stiles followed with his Jeep after Moll’s pickup truck. When they pulled to a stop at some point, he made sure Stiles understood how to get back before they made their short goodbyes, so Moll was already on his way back not longer than a minute afterwards.

Inside the forest, despite July’s heat, that was felt heavily in open areas, there was a slightly chilly wind going between the high trees, and everything was green and alive- even if way too quiet for a place which is supposed to be full of wildlife.

Stiles wandered for a while through the different marked roads, but all the paths eventually led him to the same abandoned visitor centre, where a big sign of _CLOSED DUE TO RECENT WILD ANIMAL COUNTER_ was hanged on the door, as well as signs of _CAUTION: WILD HABITAT-DANGEROUS ANIMALS_ on its walls. He, therefore, decided to get away from the area, figured that the monster had understood by that point that it would not find a pray anywhere around there.

Continuing deeper into the woods, he tried to have as short breaks as possible. He always chose areas where there was a relatively sparse number of trees, though he always stayed on guard- never sitting but only crunching, body tensed, which made it a little hard to rest, but he had no choice. He was inside the very territory of the predator, which probably did not even need that home field advantage.

The sun got closer to the ground more and more as the hours stretched on, but there was no sign to the beast, and the streams just kept splitting, with most of them not even leading to the south-west, where the specific he was looking for was supposed to be. It made Stiles yearning for a nice cold shower, in the comfy of his home and away from that first. He was still far from giving up, though, keeping reminding himself the reason he was doing it in the first place.

The reason he did have to be angry with himself was not carrying the tent with him -– the one he had brought as a cover story for his Father, yet had left in the car -– with the trees having too thin branches to climb on. He did not think it would take _that_ long to get to his target, after all, and while there was no point to try battling the need to sleep after walking for so long -– especially as he could not let it affect the fight with the mountain lion -– he could not just go to sleep in the open like that, when he had no way to expect it.

About less than an hour before sunset time, just as he started looking for a good hideous place to spend the night at- he found the spring at last.

Finally letting himself to sit down on the rocks surrounding it, all that was left was to pass that test of patience until the animal would reach the place. Even after pacing around for so long, he knew that soon enough he would go crazy from staying still in one place, but it was the smartest and quickest way to run into the best, instead of circling around the spot and hope for the best.

Stiles suddenly got terrified at the thought of being ambushed, comprehending how little and pitiful he was, so deep in the animal’s territory. Not being able to cover his scent was one thing, but was he going to battle against cat-like instincts and athleticism when being ambushed?

He started working on his fire arrows- tying the dry grass he had collected on his way to the bottom of the head of the arrows, after getting the idea for it from the fight against the Gigante. Even if the skin of the mountain lion was said to be bullet-proof, he at least could try weakening it as much as he could.

The crunchy noise of the grass might make him missing signs of the beast getting closer -– without being able to cover his scent, an ambush was to be expected -– but from what Stiles heard, it was too good to fail like that. His bat and bow were on his lap just in case, of course, but he knew that in case of an ambush against something with a combination of instincts and athleticism which was better than that of a cat, his strength was his only true weapon.

After he finished, he put his work back inside his backpack and sighed. The night was coming closer, and yet there he was, sitting there with no idea what to do next. It was even too late to go back, taking at least three days at home to try to think of an actual plan, and come back more prepared. He was just so pitiful.

Reminding himself over and over again that it was still worth the try, he fished a granola bar out of his bag, keeping the canned food for later.

Stiles was halfway through it when he heard heavy footsteps coming closer. He got up quickly, almost slipping on the stones -– and helping the predator by doing the job himself -– as he hurried to hide behind bushes at a higher spot, managing to drag his bag and the bow with him, while accidentally leaving the bat behind.

He had only time to take out his bow, when it had finally approached-

Stiles almost gasped in surprise, fortunately being able to block his mouth in time.

The being was revealed to not be a mountain lion, as Gerard had claimed- but a _lion_ , though much larger than Stiles had seen at the Zoo. Actually, it was much bigger than the size of Peter in his Alpha mode.

All in all, it was clearly not a real animal, which mistakenly lost its way from its home in Africa.

That old asshole; of course Gerard would be tricky with him. Stiles should have known he had called it a _mountains’_ lion for a reason.

The said monster had yet to notice him, fortunately, though its eyes caught the left granola bar. It started sniffing it, and seemed quite delighted to find something more interesting to eat than, well, humans.

Stiles may have had even joked on the irony- in a scenario where he would not have run and left anything behind him like a brainless coward, or if the Lion was not for the fact the monster was only a few meters beneath him, with no problem to reach him by a single jump. Damn it, it was so huge that even swallowing the foil wrapper paper would not affect it.

His hands began to tremble as he slowly unzipped the front pocket of the bag to find the lighter, and were already sweaty by the time he grasped the arrows- maintaining his eyes on the Lion all along. He had to keep his breaths low, so there was no way for him to calm the violent hits of his heart inside his chest, but he would not have a chance to hesitate once the arrows were lighted up.

Once a fire was made, he aimed at the forehead of the currently hunched body, and shot.

After he released the first arrow, he did not waste time in checking whether he missed or not before he began to prepare the next one. He only had time to turn on the lighter, though, as the terrible roar that came next rattled his bones -– a too familiar sensation by that point -– and it instinctively fell out of his hand as he looked up.

The monstrous Lion was looking everywhere, scenting the air while revealing his fangs through warning snarls. Under it, the extinguished arrow was floating on the water, which apparently bounced off the Lion’s body. It was a matter of time before it would sniff his hiding place

This time, after igniting the arrow, he let himself get a better position while standing up, and this time shot to the throat area, through the mane.

The arrow fell right off of the beast, with no penetration damage, but some of the fur did catch on the fire, even if slowly.

The lion-like monster roared even louder than before, shaking its head before jumping into the water, and wetting the rest of its body by that.

 _Genius_ move by Stiles, yet again.

So, how was he going to get to his bat, so he could at least try hit it, with the arrows themselves being proved useless?

But then, what if-

Then the Lion’s eyes caught his, and he released a deep-throated roar. As though it had a paralyzing effect, Stiles’ knees refused to bend and let him reach the lighter.

But then it took a few steps back, preparing to jump; the adrenaline finally won the fight over the control over Stiles’ limbs, and he managed to duck down and light another arrow just as the mighty Lion was launching itself off of the ground, leaping itself up to his direction.

With mere instinct, Stiles starched his arm back and threw the fire arrow right into the huge, gaped at its fullest, incoming muzzle.

Stiles was shoved a few meters back at the force of the Lion’s clash into him, rolling in the dirt before he came to a stop. He grunted in pain, but barely heard the sound coming outside his own mouth as the monster next to him was running riot, whining and coughing while struggling to pull with its big paws at the arrow that was stuck inside his throat.

As Stiles hoped, the arrow may not be able to make any impact on the invulnerable skin, but it certainly affected when it hit the insides of the monster.

Stiles carefully stood up, maintaining a safe distance from it as he walked in the direction of his forgotten bat. He quickly climbed right up, meanwhile debating with himself whether he should draw out the spikes and search for a possible soft spot with it, or save it for when he would find it.

As came back up, though, the Lion seemed to find a way to take out the arrow. It was breathing heavily, seemingly exhaling smoke, and too out of focus to reach for the stream.

Stiles held the bat tight as he ran to its direction, but instead of turning around to face Stiles- the monster decided to head away.

Even with the head start, and the great pain his target was in- it was impossible for Stiles to keep with the other’s speed as Stiles was chasing it. When the gap eventually became too big to be able to at least follow its route, the sky was already coloured in pink and dark purple and shadowed the whole forest, meaning that searching for trails was also out of the option, not without his flashlight.

Stiles slowed his pace and turned back, so he would be able to find the spring again, along with his stuff.

He felt even exposed than before in the darkness, but what was he supposed to do next? He still had his strength to test against that of the monster’s bones, but even that looked like something that would not end up as a critical damage to it. There was just no successful strategy that could work.

If only he could get a better power after being breastfed by his sworn enemy.

…Okay, that sounded awful, and it certainly was _not_ the time to be disturbed like that.

Once he found his way back, he collected the scattered used arrows -– at least those which were not covered in drool -– and put them back in the bag, along with the bow. He found the lighter, too, and put it in his pocket, keeping it reachable just in case.

He was just washing his face in the spring’s water, when a feminine cry came from the woods ahead of him. He stalled for a second, then made sure to grab the flashlight he took out of his bag in one hand, and his bat in the other, before sprinting to the location the sound came from.

“Hello? Where are you?” He called to the open air, directing the light in random ways. What the hell was someone else doing there?

“Over here!” The voice returned an answer, and Stiles changed his path towards it.

After a few moments he spotted a moving silhouette between those of the tall trees, and when the light finally fell on the source of the voice, Stiles ceased running at once.

It was a scene which he had seen before: a girl, with her hands shakenly covering her freezing body, staring at him in impotence and terror. Even her wild hair had a reddish shade, though not strawberry-blonde.

Moreover, she was much, much clothless.

Finally, Stiles woke up of his shock to turn off his flashlight, thankful for the night around them. He took his hoodie out of his bag and gave it to her, who accepted it with a thankful nod.

He entered the flashlight to one of the front pockets of his bag. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know about- Wait, never mind that now, let’s get out of here first.”

He took her hand and pulled it in the other direction he came from, but after a short while, she had released her hand from his grip to take a break to cough.

“Sorry, I’m a bit sick and too weak for running,” she croaked. “But I know the forest, I’ll be able to lead us the right way.”

Stiles was not sure about the direction she led him to, but followed her anyway with no arguing. There was no point to make her more exhausted than she seemed to already be, and he could always manhandle her, once they were far enough from an area he needed to keep his hands free, in case they would be followed.

“I’m aware too much, unfortunately, of what you started to ask me about,” she told him in a small voice. “He took me hostage so I would lure others to come look after me, but I finally managed to escape.”

Well, if that was not typical of mythological monsters.

“But wait, does it mean that it can _talk_?” Stiles asked with surprise. “And is it all animally-like, or does he think like a human?”

She shrugged. “There no need for that. I just saw him eating people alive, right before my eyes, every time they reached me. If anything, he is _better_ than humans.”

Stiles smiled at her with sympathy. “I also witnessed people being killed in the worst ways possible, and creatures using their supremacy in cruel ways. It’s hard to believe now, but you’ll learn to live through those memories.”

“What are _you_ doing here, though?” She coughed. “Don’t tell me you’re one of the idiots who thought they could face him.”

Stiles laughed. “I dunno, I’ve just made it running away with its tail between his legs, so I guess I have a little hope, even if I don’t know yet how I’ll finish it off.” He kept looking around, his concern growing bigger by the moment. Maybe he should pick her up and start running the rest of the way sooner than he thought, after all.

“You… Still don’t have a plan?” Her surprised tone sounded a bit strange to Stiles for some reason, as though she was more stating a fact to herself than asking, but he ignored that.

“Yeah,” he admitted awkwardly. “I was told there was nothing that could work against it, but I had no choice but counting on giving my best shot with what I have. Do you know anything maybe? Noticed any hints to his weakness, by any chance?”

She stopped at once, coughing a laugh in a way too ungraceful manner, unlike the way she was acting up to that moment.

 _Coughs_ …

Stiles could not believe he was fooled by someone’s beauty being close to that of Lydia.

“Hera… Was… Lying all along.” The Lion in disguise spoke as happily as it could through continual coughs. “You _are_ nothing but… As block-headed as your Father… Never thinking… Of the consequences… Just like… When he created himself… Yet another bastard.”

As it finally caught his breath, Stiles took a step back to put his bag away, and then raised his bat high.

It was smiling at him mockingly. “What are you doing? Thinking that little thing can stop me? All I need is to drink some water to heal, but even in the way I am now, I can still take you down. Did you _honestly_ think I couldn’t smell you when I first approached? All your body screamed in fear, anyone could hear your little heart fluttering from miles away? The only reason I wasted all this time, was to make you reveal your plans for me, but since you have none, you’re just a pathetic being who gives a bad name for anyone who’s ever tried to defeat me, the Lion of Nemea.“

Then the creature tried to punch the Stiles, which was when his improved skills by Finstock’s training finally had a chance to be carried out: he effectively dodged the strike, and countered the next one by caching the wrist with his free hand, sending a quick kick to the middle. Using that motion to jump a little away from his opponent, Stiles wielded his bat, landing it on the other’s head.

The creature fell to the ground, stunned, and slowly crawled away while already beginning to shape back -– with the precious hoodie being pull to pieces -– but Stiles took advantage of the sensitive state to hit, and hit the reshaping head once again, this time being able to devote all of his force into it.

The Lion’s body met the earth once more, and now that the transformation was complete- the whine sounded so genuine, that Stiles could not have it in himself to move.

Was he really going to break someone’s _skull_? Shooting them dead was one thing, but he had to _feel_ it, and continue living with the memory of the sounds that a real animal would make?

That pause was enough for the Lion to be refilled with enough energy to stumble away, as normal running was not something it was capable of to do in its state.

Stiles managed to overcome the emotional turmoil enough to pick up his backpack, and rushed right after it.

Even with the night’s darkness so deep, the dazed Lion ran into so many trees that all Stiles had to do was follow the heavy _thump_ sounds.

It continued like that for a couple more minutes. until it strangely got quiet all at once. Stiles kept following the direction from which the Lion was last heard from, until he arrived by an ascent naked of trees, which ended in a cliff face. There was a shape on it that was blacker than the rest of the shadowed rock, and Stiles figured it was an opening to a cave.

From the full of ugly agony coughing that came from the exact way, there was no mistake who was the owner of it.

Stiles got behind the tree again, placing the bag next to him. He could only hope that he would manage to hit the Lion enough to make it be the one to lead itself to a fatal accident, before its body healed itself.

But that had to be a false hope, considering that the monster seemed to be even more developed than the fast-healing shapeshifters Stiles had known until that point- but that meant it truly had nothing to wish for, as he had just proved to himself he was not tough enough to do it the only way it seemed possible.

At any rate, the smartest thing to do now had to be putting a focus on escalating the Lion’s bad condition, especially as the coughs sounded worse the more it struggled with them, bad enough to almost distract Stiles of his own thoughts.

Instead of preparing another set of arrows this time, he took all the dry grass he had left and collected more small branches from around him. Then he carefully but quickly ran to the cave, placing them to create the longest line he could make in front of the entrance, and lighted it up.

He knew it would surely not make a big fire, but smoke was something that the Lion sounded like he could not deal with too much at that moment, according to his continuous panting and coughing.

As he went back Stiles get his bat, just in case, he heard heavy steps behind him heading away.

Only it was not from the opening he was standing near, but from what was apparently _another_ exit of the cave.

The jerk knew exactly what kind of cave to choose.

Stiles sprinted after him, cursing in his heart when he understood too late he did not have time to get to any of his weapons. The more the adrenaline pumped through his veins, though, he could not care enough to stay disappointed for long, and just kept running as fast as he could.

When he finally caught up, it was only because the Lion was lying on the bottom of slippery decline he probably fell into. It had a hard time to breathe, meaning he could not have kept going for long anyway.

It was wide open for an attack, but what kind of attack _could_ Stiles make, even if he had had his weapons with him?

Stiles decided to challenge his lack once again and take a shot at the eyes, in case they were the relatively most vulnerable spots in the Lion’s body. Anything that could possibly deteriorate its condition, even if the rest of his senses were even more important to it than its eyesight, would be for the best.

He groped around until he found a stick, then got closer to the monster as quietly as possible- when the Lion rose up at once and stormed at him.

They both rolled on the ground until they ended with the Lion laying with all its weight on Stiles. Its roars were weak due to its trouble with breathing, but it certainly could still close its huge jaw on Stiles for enough time to chew him whole, even if it had faced someone with a thicker body than that of Stiles.

Stiles held the bottom and upper parts of the wide-opened muzzle as it gaped itself at him, and kept it as away from him as possible until he gathered enough strength- and with a loud cry, he pushed the enormous head far away from him, along with the rest of the body.

He watched it rolling in the air until it crashed into a tree, almost breaking it out of its roots.

The Lion got yet another attack of nonstop coughs, and Stiles quickly took the chance to get another stick. He did not waste time again with mistaking the monster’s whines for not being aware of its surrounding, and so acted faced as he jumped over its back, fisting its mane with one hand, and then tried to reach the eyes with the other.

The Lion rolled to the side over and over again, roaring in disapproval as it could not shake Stiles off of its back- but Stiles knew as well that he could not hold on like that for long.

He did not want it to become a wrestling battle, but he had no other choice.

Once the Lion was back on his stomach, Stiles immediately set his heels into the ground, and pushed his knees into the Lion’s sides as hard as he could- all while surrounding its large neck by his hands, and squeezing with everything that he had.

It effectively kept the monster in place, and Stiles had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually it went quiet.

Stiles dismounted the Lion, falling to the ground himself, and breathed shallowly. He wished for a good sleep more than anything, but he could not leave the monster lying there. He had to seize any moment it was not awake.

After taking a few more moments to catch his breath, he held one of the paws of the unconscious Lion and began to drag it to what he figured was the way back to the cave, so he could take his bag.

After too long minutes, he finally located the place. He wanted to take a break for just a minute, so he could drink some water, but at the last moment he remembered to check that the Lion was still passed out, before he was leaving its body out of his grasp.

When no breath was heard to come out, and all the veins he found in its necks felt too still with nothing to pump through them- Stiles’ own heart stopped working for a while.

When it returned to beat again, though, it was so hard that it actually hurt.

But that pain could not be compared to the blow he got out of the undeniable fact:

He had killed _with his bare hands_.

It did not matter anymore that it was a pure evil monster, and it did not matter what more damage it would have done if it was not for Stiles stopping it.

After years of trying to prove -– to himself, to his Father, to everyone -– he had found control of those hands…

His legs felt too weak to carry the weight of his distress, and he fell to his knees.

He was not on the verge on a panic attack, too shocked to be anything but completely numb- but he would not be surprised if he got one because of it during the upcoming days, when he was able to feel anything again.

 _Would_ he, though? Was it impossible for people like him to feel anything again?

The thing was, it was not even worth it; no matter how many chances Hera and Gerard planned for him to prove himself heroic, he was not going to win what he was fighting for, because he was going to accomplish it all as a weakling, instead of wearing a brave, proud smile on his face.

His Father had warned him, _begged_ of him to never train. And yet here he was, being able to kill a monster a few times stronger than a Werewolf without even thinking about it. His hands were a deadlier weapon than the ones he carried in his bag.

He was supposed to feel glad, to feel _proud_ of himself, yet he could not find it in himself to

Maybe Cora was right; maybe he was useless after all, either not completing the job or not being able to move on.

And Scott… What would _he_ say about it all?

But the clearest image he could picture in his mind was of Derek rolling his eyes at him, slamming the door of the Loft in his face.

It was only then when he could finally feel something, only it was so ugly that he missed not being able to feel anything at all.

-

Stiles blinked, and there was suddenly soft reddish light coming down from the sky.

He emptied a bottle of water before starting to slowly make his way back. Even while dragging a body of the giant lion behind him, he knew his pace was much slower than it should be, as his heart added a weight of its own.

The sun was more than half of the way back down when he found his Jeep again. He threw the bag into the passenger seat, and drove the roads until one of them eventually led him to Moll’s house.

Moll’s smile was welcoming and full of relief,  too much warmth than what Stiles could stand at that moment.

“Thanks the Deities, I was just about to call -– “

“ -– It’s dead,” Stiles cut him indifferently. “I left the body in the parking lot. It called itself the Lion of Nemea, and could wear a human’s face like shapeshifters, if that helps you with anything.”

“Nemea?” The man repeated with wonder. “It sounds familiar, I think I heard about that area before. Somewhere in Europe for sure.”

“Try Greece,” Stiles said, too weak to offer even something close to a smile.

Moll stared at him confused, but handed his phone back to him without a word, and let him go back to his Jeep.

“Hold on,” Moll called after him just as he opened the Jeep’s door. “How did you do it? How did you kill it?”

Stiles stood quietly for a few moments, tapping his fingers on the door.

Was this part his journey to achieve a heroic status? Was he supposed to declare the glory of his victory, or stay noble and thank the Deities for giving him the power for it?

Yeah right. Not in this lifetime.

“That Lion was not the only one to be naturally gifted by a dark force,” he replied simply, and jump into the Jeep without looking back at the left confused man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/167568290711/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-6)


	7. Chapter 7

_You killed your mother._

 

He pulled out a claw, right from the lion’s paw- and used it to draw a red line around the Lion’s nake, cutting it open.

Wearing the head on his own, the blood flowed down his back, like a crimson cape.

Lil’ Red Lion Hood; he thought to himself with irony, staring at the remaining pieces of the red hoodie he happened to decide to bring along.

 _Were_ those pieces of fabric, though? They were too shiny, like slices of meat.

_You hear me? YOU KILLED HER!_

 

There was an actual club in his hand; large, rough and clumsy-shaped, like someone tore an extension of roots right off of a massive tree, and decided to use it at it was without bothering to whittle it.

He barely wore anything, if at all. Focusing on his body was a little hard with all of the distracting dark red being poured out of him.

Stiles raised a hand to his bare chest and found a hole in there.

He had ripped his heart out of his chest and then had _shredded_ _it apart_.

_I’ve warned you… Now you will kill ME._

 

Scott looked at him, face full of betrayal and sheer terror- when tips of claws showed through his throat, stabbing him from the back, he fell down without a sound.

The sunglasses-wearing Alpha, Deucalion, smiled at him.

“And they say _we_ are the abomination.”

 

-

“I’m a Demigod.”

“... _What_?”

Stiles had reached out for the phone right after when he knew it was impossible to catch his breath anytime soon, and it was only going to get worse.

The dream made him feel smaller than ever, like there was something inside of him – undoubtedly part of him, and yet too big to be covered by his own skin – that had finally found its way out, leaving him punctured and weaker than ever. 

And the worst thing of all- his fragile figure did not feel like it was _wrong_ for him to be anything else but that barbaric-like image of himself which he had experienced in the dream. He knew, not even that deep inside of him, that it had been his natural next step: even if it had barely been exposed up until that point, but that what he had always been, while living through his life with the false face of an annoying, harmless spaz.

It was just so disgustingly _right_ , maybe even in an evolutional level; an undeniable development in his maturing process. It was what he had always meant to be, and everyone, including him- should start thinking of him as such.

That realization was something he already had come to, during his drive back home, but it had not been a time for a necessary extreme move, like that day demanded. He did what he had never done before, even at his darkest hours, where he had fallen to the floor of his own room with a desperate need to cry that had never broken out: reaching for someone.

Yes, this time it _was_ different; he had been trying to convince himself after his fingers had flown too unthinkingly over the buttons, and the dialling sound had been heard. It was a promise he had made with Scott, after all- to contact each other whenever they felt they could be a danger to others.

The only promise he seemed to be able to keep nowadays.

Stiles had had no idea how to even start to explain it, but it had been a problem he had had to force himself to deal with. As he had been waiting to hear the familiar voice from the other line, he had forcibly grasped the hand which had held the phone with his free one, so he would not have attempted to run away from this.

And so, as soon as Scott had picked up, he jumped right into spilling random nonsense out of his mouth. It was in that kind of situations where this habit of his finally turned out to be good and useful.

But it was too hard to give up to his nature to say whatever that was in his head, suddenly, when there were other natures in him – albeit less familiar ones – he had to fight to push down.

“Are you okay there, man? Should I come over -- “

“ -- _No_ ,” Stiles startled himself with how firmly the response came out. He noticed how funny his heartbeat felt- weak and small, like his heart had shrunk to a mouse’s size, and barely kept up with serving his whole body. “No, that’s not- That’s not why I- I just thought about something else, and, you know. ADHD and all that shit.”

He had killed a _Lion_ just a little more than a day ago, for fuck’s sake. Why was it so hard to do such an obvious thing as being honest with his best friends?

...Maybe because things that would seem obvious to others, were not so in his mind.

“Okay, so what was it about?” Scott asked, not entirely convinced.

Stiles swallowed, feeling a serve need to drink or else his body threatened to bring him down to his knees. He was certain, out of experiences, that it was going to feel any better if he sat again on his bed, though.

He had to talk. He _must_. Even Scott could be fooled by his lies so far.

It was still essential to not let him know the whole truth – about the Alpha pack, of course, but especially about his involvement with Gerard –  for his own safety, just like Stiles planned to do with everyone else. But with the impact the recent event had left on him, he had to share with him a little more than he wanted to, even if it felt too early.

The other option would mean it would quickly bring them to a situation where it would be too late for everything, with no way back, which left him with no choice.

“You know Zeus, the god of the Greek Mythology? Well, not mythology anymore.”

“But you said only Derek insists that it’s real.” Scott’s confused tone assured that he would not be able to deduce something close to the unspeakable affairs, which filled Stiles with a relief- as relieved as he could feel that moment, while his insides were so hollow.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. It’s- It _is_ real, the bastard was right all that time.” Stiles tried to breathe out a laugh, but the voice that came out instead was too awkward to even be considered close to that. He rubbed his hair, trying to get rid of disturbing thoughts out of his head. “So anyway, Zeus, that god of storms and ruler of more or less everything? He’s my biological parent. So, yeah, I’m a Demigod. Like Perseus. I’m a descendant of him, too, actually.”

It threw him back to the day he had told Scott that the Werewolf joke was not a possibility which could be taken flippantly any longer. It began to form a disturbing pattern.

Stiles looked at the new chair he had gotten after he had broken the old one – where Scott had left scratch marks – to not let it get caught by his Father’s detective nose. There would be no one to cover for him when he lost control, had something happened.

“Who’s Perseus?” Scott’s half-amused half-embarrassed tone helped Stiles to build the sarcastic-despicable wall back again. It may not sound like the most positive effect he should get from someone, but as long as it supported him to keep going despite his awful state, he could not care that much.

“Just maybe, I don’t know, one of the most famous heroes of all ages? Ripped Medusa's head off, fought against a giant-as-fuck sea monster to save Andromeda… Anything rings a bell?”

There was another short silence of hesitation. “So… He was real too?”

“Yeah, yeah, exactly! Everyone was real, all those characters, including the gods and, well, looks like the monsters too.”

“Oh, okay,” Scott did not sound like he quite got it yet, but he understood enough for Stiles to not need to explain himself more. “That’s great, man, I’m so happy for you to finally figure it out. So, do you have any other special powers too, like those in the legends?”

Stiles finally felt somewhat more at ease. He was gladder than ever to have Scott to make him forget why he had taken it all so seriously, even if only for a few minutes, like that subject was the simplest thing in the world.

When Scott had turned into a Werewolf, Stiles could not find a way to calm him down and distract him from the stressful issue – unless he had started talking with him about Allison, which had been an undoubtedly a desperate one as well – which had always made him feel bad. Stiles really wished he could give him back the same inducing effect his friend had the talent to do so with him.

“Nope, as far as I know” Stiles answered. “It’s more or less summed up to be only super-strength. But I keep the training sessions with Coach to try improving other skills, so I just might not even need anything else. Oh, yeah!” He exclaimed, almost tripping back to his bed. “And I didn’t tell you the best part: when I helped Derek rescue Erica and Boyd, there was this Gigante- ” He paused his excited rant to scratch his face awkwardly. “Um, yeah, that happened too. Sorry for not telling you.”

“No, it’s totally fine,” Scott dismissed the apology sincerely. “I mean, you _should_ have called me so I could help you guys, but I guess that as long as they are out and safe, it’s fine.”

It was not a that much strange thing for him to not keep in touch too much with Scott during most the summer, despite being in the same town, and not having other friends. They had been integral when they were younger, but ever since the last summer before high school, Scott had preferred dedicating his free time during the vacations to improve himself for the following school year.

That summer, in particular, he was required to attend summer school anyway, but he took it as seriously as ever.

“So how’s studying going?” Stiles asked, slowly sitting back down.

“Pretty good. It’s not too interesting, but they do teach some good tricks, and I’m more focused and become more absorbed the more I get better. I still prefer the normal school with you, of course, although the teachers here are much more cheerful and down to earth.”

Stiles snorted. “Obviously. I mean, they’re not regular, _real_ teachers, who are doomed to be disgruntled.”

The conversation stretched on for a few more minutes: from Deaton, that was not giving Scott any more useful information about the Werewolves world, to the many times he was close to giving in to the tempt to call Allison, despite her request for no contact at all. It was hard for Stiles to reply when Scott started asking about him, but he went on with it anyway, reminding himself the reason he had called to begin with.

“Remember to tell me when stuff like this happens, like that Alpha Pack attacking again,” Scott reminded Stiles after he had filled him in most of the details about the recent week and a half. “I won’t forgive myself if you go into a dangerous situation like this on your own again, even if you’re already strong enough to look after yourself.”

This was it; this was finally the point he tried to get to. After telling Scott the background, he should go on and say it.

The risk was so apparent that it choke him, but he knew that the little control he had on his tongue right now was nothing compared to the moment he would be triggered.

Even if it meant that the moment it would eventually happen, _Scott_ would be the one to deal with it.

“Stiles?”

Stiles clenched his bed’s sheets, closing his eyes tightly. “Sorry, I lost myself again for a sec. Uh, listen, I gotta go, but I’ll talk to ya soon, right?”

“Yeah, sure man. Sorry I don’t keep in touch more often. I promise that August would be all free for hanging out.”

“Don’t sweat it, it’s on me just as much. Bye Scotty!” Stiles hurried to hang up, his throat so dry it was a miracle he could end the call without the words become unclear.

He threw his phone at the table, almost not minding of how it almost slipped to the floor. He dropped himself back so he was lying now, covered his eyes with his fists and groaned.

He was a coward, but fuck it. He would always prefer the choice of delaying the time of a hazard when it came to someone as close to him as Scott, even if Scott would never forgive him for letting other people being at risk instead of him.

Putting his loved ones at the first line would always be a weakness Stiles would not be able to overcome, but most of the time he did not try to anyway, because he had never found a good enough reason to do that, and he honestly hoped he never would.

It did not mean he could let himself lying around doing nothing, though. He should head to Derek and start the research after the Alpha pack, even if just to prove himself that the heartless figure, which his dream had told him he was about to become, was something he could still fight against.

He got up of the bed and headed downstairs for a well-desired glass of water.

It was going to be the longest Sunday he had ever had.

-

The more time passing, the more Stiles compared the struggle that was dealing with two stressful issues– the Alpha Pack and the Labours – at once. He thought he was tough enough, considering how big problems always occurred at the same period of time in his life, but this time it was different; it was about life and death, and he _could not_ share it with anyone.

Even if his mediator was not Gerard, there would have anyway been a risk that something would go wrong, if he told Derek the whole truth. It was the same kind of logic Derek had treated him with, ironically. But if Derek had prevented information from him because he did not trust Stiles to not try to do something stupid on his own with it- then Stiles was _certain_ that the pack would blindly go to Gerard and do an unchangeable damage.

Stiles was a traitor, that was for sure, but when trying to protect them from beings with worse traits that this, there was no place for morals. He could not let anything hurt the deal he had made with him, when it would hurt them right back, in a worse way. Even if they made sure he would no longer be around, Hera was temperamental enough to decide it was a personal action against her, and seek revenge.

Giving up on the Alpha Pack could make things so much easier, but it was still out of the option. Not only every Werewolves problem was his problem by default, as Scott’s friend, together with the fact they now knew him- but now, that he obligated himself to become a hero, Stiles _must_ help Derek. But that was one of the needed obstacles that one had to go through to be able to carry that title, and he was not going to give up on that so easily.

Observing at his reflection in the mirror, he looked _awful_ , and it was easy to see the weight of what he had been through during the last few days. He knew that the moment they would start get suspicious with him, he would be thrown out of Derek’s Loft for good, and never again being able to help them against the Alphas out of their suspicious toward him, no matter how he previously helped them.

Then again, he had to trust his inner walls to stand strong enough against the piercing eyes of the pack. He could not let himself putting everyone at risk by revealing the secret and blow up the deal, so he was going to suck it all up and behave normally, like the man he had to be now, because he could get kicked out just by being a crybaby.

Keeping all that in mind, Stiles arrived at the Loft at noon. This time found the whole Pack there, in a middle of what seemed like a training session, and realized he was, to some degree, unprepared for that.

Not that he should had been surprised not to find there Derek on his own, but he was too mentally exhausted to deal with that amount of people that it felt like having to go through an actual unplanned scenario. He felt too foggy-minded to find a good excuse to what he was doing in his free time, when he was not searching after the Alphas, but having only Derek’s dryness to deal with could mean reaching faster to the heart of things, without talking about it too much.

And wow, who would have thought Stiles would ever prefer to be alone in a room with Derek than having someone else there, distracting them from the usual tension between them.

Finding both Erica and Boyd there so soon was a surprise by itself, though. He knew that if he had a child being kidnapped, he would never let them get away from his sight after such a short while. Not without a group of their friends he knew enough to count on, at least.

Even if he had the lack of tact to ask about this, though, no one paid attention to him anyway- too focused on trying to catch their Alpha unprepared. It was only when Cora was thrown at his direction and he yelped in surprise that they finally took a break.

“You were doing so beautifully well against the Alphas,” Isaac remarked through heavy panting from the other side of the room. “Did you really have to break that non-squeeing-every-five-seconds record?”

“You were much better yourself when you were too busy to use your mouth,” Stiles retorted.

“Someone’s got a new shade,” Erica greeted him, eyes going through his skin that was tanner than its natural colour.

Stiles stared at her for a moment, but found no hint of sarcasm there. She actually acted friendly, and somehow it made it harder to keep the unbothered act on.

But he knew he should find it as a good thing- it meant she had slightly gotten better after the last night he had seen her, where no one had been in the mood to comment on anyone’s look.

“Yeah, thank Finstock for that.” Stiles checked his hands himself. “He makes me sweat all the sunscreen I put on and don't give me time to get more. You better never see the tanning line, you’ll _scream_.”

“You’re sure it has nothing to do with the little visit to the heavens you did last week?”

“Olympus,” Derek corrected her, answering Stiles’ confusion regarding Erica knowing about the issue.

It was not like he had asked him to not tell anybody, but when it came to Derek, it just might mean he had also said something about Stiles’ name, which was something he was not ready to cope with in on his better days.

“Well, thanks for that, I suppose,” Stiles turned to him. “Doing the… _well-gods-exist-so-just-take-whatever-you-want-from-that_ talk to even more people, when I myself can barely get my head around this, would be -- “

“ -- Why do you smell differently?”

Derek’s nostrils flared widely, behaving as antisocial as usual, as he kept sniffing Stiles from the place he was standing, even after taking Stiles’ attention.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at Derek. “ _Again_ with that caveman-y lack of tact? Seriously? It must be the hair gel, so calm down, officer Paws.”

“There’s a _natural_ scent on you that you don’t usually carry,” Derek noted.

Stiles’ eyes opened widely.

He had screwed up; he had forgotten how smart their noses were, and did not get as many showers as he should have had.

He made himself a mental note to be careful next time with any scent that could point on Gerard, or even the facility he had been in.

“Now that you mention,” Cora’s eyes scanned across Stiles’ body, physically making him walk back and be shoved against the wall, “he doesn’t seem like the type to smell like earth or the woods.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t seem to be from around here either,” Isaac added.

“Are you sure it’s not that new deodorant brand of rainforest scent that you smell?” Stiles tried, hopeful.

Derek cracked a cynical smile, then raised his eyebrows expectably.

Stiles’ heart thundered fast in his chest, and the worse part was that there was no stopping it. There was no way Derek would miss if he lied.

Why the hell was he given strength in a world where he had to live with Werewolves around, when what he really needed in life, especially as an inveterate liar, was the power to control his heartbeats?

“It was hunting, okay?” Stiles sighed. “You heard of Hera, right? Zeus’ wife? She suffers from a Snow White’s Evil Queen-kinda complex, and decided to give me a series of Labours, that are necessary to complete to prove myself try to prove myself worthy for her mercy or something pitiful like that, otherwise she’s gonna keep with her shit for the rest of my life. You can see that as an initiation process as an official Greek warrior or whatever. But it’s fine, really- this time, all I did going for a hunting trip in a forest, three hours away from here, and now there’s one less animal to skip happily through the woods. Are you happy now?”

It was as close to the truth he could get without telling how it really was. Maybe that how things really were, and he just was not positive enough to see it that way. If only there was no threat for all of Beacon Hills to be burnt by a Dragon that was dispatch after him if he refused to do it even for one week.

It was the best he could come with right now, anyway, as there was no way to hide the fact he would apply Labours on weekly basis. Soon he would start showing up injured to these meetings, and the next encounter with Deucalion might collide with one of the Labours.

While the others process the story, Cora seemed to not want to consider it for even a second.

“So why were you scared just now?” She asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Because even if it didn’t sound idiotic as it is, I knew you still don’t trust me to not do things on my own accord, no matter how much I argued with you to let me continue helping you.”

Stiles was holding a sigh of relief. The improvisation miraculously was going better than expected, even when he needed to look dead in the eyes of one of the two in the room he was betraying the most.

“Gee, Stiles, if it was just about killing a rabbit, then you could have said so,” Erica snorted.

“It’s a rabbit for you now,” Stiles took the chance to repel the other girl’s doubt, “but let’s see what happens after you watch it getting hit by an arrow, and then it’s suddenly a _bunny_ , with all of his insides coming out of his belly. You may think vegetarian people are the world’s biggest idiots _right now_ \-- “

“ -- I think we all got the image, thank you for that,” Isaac hardly talked through a well-kept closed mouth, looking at the direction of the horizon through the Loft’s big windows.

Stiles gaped, then breathed a laugh. “Are you kidding me?! I didn’t know that Werewolves could still feel sick! I want to go on just to experience how far I can push you.”

“What made you come here?” Derek brought Stiles’ attention back to him.

Well, it was a big progress from _why are you here_ , but still not enough for Stiles to be satisfied.

Stiles sighed again, making sure to emphasize his impatience. “Since _someone_ forces me to not check beforehand through a phone call, because it will surely not be answered, I just thought to come to check if you are free to have some Alphas research. And it looks like I got here just in time, now that all of you are done with the family reunions. And congratulation for those, by the way.”

“Did you also bring greetings for those who couldn’t have those?” Isaac deadpanned.

Stiles raised his hands to the sides in disbelief, as though he was literally giving up.

“Woah, okay. And I bet that was not even going to be the last comment of that kind, isn’t it?” Even though he had family issues of his own, Stiles could not handle the number of times Isaac had to bring it up and play it like he was the only poor one.

Isaac shrugged. “You were the one to generalize.”

“You don’t make yourself worthy of getting any greetings either.”

“Enough.” Derek's eyes were locked on Stiles, as though they stayed fixed on him even while the others talked. “So what else do you have left?”

Stiles returned a confused expression to Derek. “Huh?”

“How many more Labours do you have left? And how long is it going to take?”

Stiles could not be luckier than this: Derek, the Alpha, did not question him at all – or else he would have shown it – which meant his Betas would have to follow suit; and yet, looking at someone showing confidence in him was undermining even more than looking at the doubting face of the other Hale sister.

“I get new one every week, and it _should_ be over by the end of the summer,” Stiles answered, clearing his throat, “but, well, I don’t hurry to count on a word of a god, like I can’t be sure it will really put an end to things. And, uh, as for the other Labours -- ”

“ -- Do you must do them all on your own?” Derek guessed.

“It can risk breaking the deal, and then my very life will put everyone’s else in danger,” Stiles explained.

Derek nodded, then scowled in what was his ultimate Alpha mode expression. “The moment you are informed of your next Labour, the first thing you do is calling me, no matter what time it is. Am I understood?”

His tone left no place for an argument, but Stiles called bullshit.

“Oh, so _now_ you're gonna finally pick up your phone for a change? Suddenly I’m not the boy who cries wolf for no reason? That's nice. What if your first assumption was true, and I did find a clue about the Alpha Pack, and had to act fast- would you even care to call me back unless I texted you that all your wet dreams about my name came true? I’m here so you let me to fucking _help_ , to be used as your entertainment in this dark time.”

“No one is using you.” Derek’s shoulders seemed to harden for some reason. “As a proof, you always have the door right there, open for you to leave. But, if you choose to stay, then you must be synchronized with us about anything you do at a given moment, even unrelated. In packs, Werewolves are even more unfunctional that we seem to you to be right now when there’s no one being in charge to decide for everyone their specific roles, and not let them do anything beyond this. So if you want a fair treatment as the rest, either accept that you can never have an equal voice to mine, no matter what you do, or deal with the consequence.”

Stiles knew he might be pouting at that moment, but he was too irritated to care.

All he could hear was Derek being a complete control freak, but he knew there was something deeper than that which was beyond his senses.

“Fine, whatever. Let’s just get over with it already.”

Stiles’ legs were not in the mood to cooperate with his hyperactivity, felt too weak to keep him standing. He walked passed all those who surround him and fell on the couch, releasing a groan as he did so.

“Shit, I forgot to bring my laptop.” he took a look around. “Why do you have to live in the twentieth century in here? Was it the landlord's term? I bet you were looking on purpose for that exact kind of place.”

“Do you really think the _internet_ would lead us back to them?” Erica asked as she came to sit beside him. The way she felt so comfortable with him was still astounding to him.

“Well, it was the main thing that helped me last time.”

“How _did_ you find us?” Boyd broke the silence he had been in since Stiles had arrived. He was standing in front of the couch, and the others were now gathered around it as well.

The fact that he made a group of people to take his words seriously enough to let him move freely and walk after him, even if just by a few steps, instead of pushing him against the wall and threat the words out of him, should overwhelm him. It only showed just how much more anxious he was than usual: struggling hard under constant weariness -- caused mostly by guilt, at that moment, but still being fed by his self-doubt after his reaction to the first Labour -- that refused to let him go.

“So there was that crystal I found in the woods- Hecatolite,” Stiles started to explain, “which is the same one the vault’s walls are built with.”

“So you found it in the woods, just like that.” Isaac looked at him skeptical.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Clearly someone left it there with an intention for me to find it. It was the same one to tell me about the whole Demigod thing. She’s associated with the gods and has known me since I was born.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow at him. “Let me get it straight again: a woman who once knew you appeared out of nowhere, just in time and with the right information, and gave it to you in the very random and unexplainable way of leaving to you a piece of rock in the woods, assuming that you would figure it out just like that, and did it all without any kind of stipulation whatsoever, just because she knows you’re _close_ to us.”

“The top priority, as _for now_ , is the _new_ location,” Derek interrupted them. He sent Isaac a glare that felt a little unnecessary; what was it about this time of Isaac taunting Stiles and questioning him that made him react to it more impatiently than usual? “We will leave anything that cannot help us with that for _later_.”

Stiles wished he could get another divine assistance this time, just to prove him wrong, but he knew any effort to get that would turn to be pointless. He had gotten help last time only because Hecate had pitied the Werewolves, but according to Gale, it had been mainly due to her interest in their specific case. There was no way a Deity would care of Werewolves fighting between themselves because of revenge.

“I guess you really looked forward this, and sorry to disappoint, but I’m pretty sure it was kinda a one-time thing,” Stiles scratched his face awkwardly. “Deities don’t like to get involved much with, as they call it, _Lycaon’s_ offsprings, after what Lycaon did to Zeus. But we can use the same way of thinking though. I mean, they don’t need to worry about controlling untrained Werewolves during the full moon anymore. Did you consider check any lairs? You know, some kind of a cave to remind them of a wolf den?"

Cora rolled her eyes. “We aren’t wolves in every aspect of it. Our instincts may be originated in those of wolves, but they’ve altered throughout time.”

Stiles changed position, getting impassioned by already knowing a certain piece of information. “Oh, yeah, right, I was told that! It’s like real wolves aren’t connected to the moon. She told me about it too, by the way, about how much... _vocal_ you were during the few recent full moons.”

Now the whole pack glared at him, but even while beginning to shrink into himself by the weight of it all. He did not regret it, though; with the end of his life feeling closer than ever- he had an urge to not waste any good story he could joke about by taking it to his grave, in a cemetery that Isaac did not inherit.

If they would leave him in enough pieces to bury, that is.

“If I hang you upside down on a tree by your underwear, I bet your whines will not be any less awful,” Cora retorted.

Stiles took a moment to imagine the session, then grimaced. “Whoa, Really? Is that how it feels?”

Cora growled. “You really don’t understand that, do you?” She took as many steps forward towards him as Derek’s gaze on her allowed. “They made us starve like the Romans did with the lions they used in their colosseums. Even if we’re not fed by it, we _need_ that feel of moonlight just as much. I wish you’d see us during the full moon, when no Gladiators nor little Greek warrior like yourself could have a chance against our savage. Maybe _then_ you’d take it all seriously, when your toy weapons were do nothing against our monstrous selves.”

No, his weapons would have no effect against lions.

But his hands, though, his hands--

Once he got them on her, Cora would be nothing but the skinny girl she looked like, despite the inhuman strength her body secretly possessed; comparing to the Lion, just how _easy_ it would be for Stiles’ hands to grab her and--

Just like _that_ time--

The sudden tension in his shoulders and the familiar prickles in his hands were more than enough to get Stiles to head to the door, his vision already blurred.

He could do this; he would hold it in just a few more minutes, until he got to his Jeep, and from there could head right back home once it was over. He had done it before, managing to delay the outburst in two minutes; he could do it again, he just had to focus on getting out of the building.

Heading down the stairs, though, was not an easy task while being on the verge of a panic attack. He had to lean heavily on the railing, clinging to it like a lifeline, even though falling into a breakdown was much scarier and painful than falling from a few levels of stairs.

When he eventually got to the entrance of the building, the world was already distorted. As he walked to the Jeep, that thankfully enough was not too far away, it felt like his surroundings, the world around him, was moving in the opposite direction it was supposed to -- as though he was walking backwards instead of forward -- and much faster than his pacing rate. The quicker Stiles tried to make it to the car, the fuzzier it got around him, and with every step he made, his legs were weightless once they were above the ground, and heavy as hell once they reached the ground.

He finally reached the Jeep, and leaned with his shaking forearm on the window.

“Come on, _come on_!” he shuddery, desperately whispered for what felt like forever. There was a pressure in his lungs, like though he got stuck in mid-air, right after jumping off of the high-water slide; he was lost in the air, where he wished to get back up, but for a too starched moment he was at neither of those.

He got the key into its right place, and barely climbed his way in. Both hands on the steering wheel, he laid his head forward them, and tried to get his breathing back on track. It was hard to focus on it, though, as he became too distracted with different sensation- his shallow gasps hit his face; the of the back of his palms against his forehead; the fingers which were briefly tangent to each other; his clothes on his damp skin- everything was touching him too much, but not enough to bring himself back to earth from the eternal floaty world he was at during that moment.

With all his other senses, though, the air around him made the impression like he was already deep underwater: sounds unclear except that unstopping ringing in his ears, colours too bright and throat too full of nothing to get enough air to his contracted chest.

Gotta find a way to get more air in or the tight chest would be slipped open by the racing heart, gotta have air gotta-- _can’t breathe--_

Something dragged one of his hands from the wheel. Stiles struggled to pull it back from the hold, but then he was suddenly manoeuvred to turn to the door, and immediately after, his whole body was embraced, being held still with only his head leaning on the other’s shoulder.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice was stable, yet almost _begging_. “Please let me help you get through this. You can, I _know_ you can, but you have to listen to me.”

Stiles was grateful for how much more grounded he felt, compared to unsuccessfully depending his stability on the wheel, but he could not understand this. What did he come for? Was it not clear enough to everyone that Stiles had just made his official dramatic exit out of the pack’s business?

“What- what are you-” Stiles tried to get the whole question out, but it took too much necessary air that he needed inside.

He sounded so fucking pathetic. Heroic Demigod his ass.

Derek shushed him, and Stiles had too little air in his brain to appreciate how unthreatening it was. “I’m going to help you breathe again, okay? I’ll count, and with every time I say three, you either start to get air out or in, and keep doing it until I get to three again. Got it?”

Stiles frowned. Did he seriously think Stiles had not tried that method before? It was the most instinctive thing to attempt to do.

Thinking too much about it made his breath to tremble out of his throat before it reached his lungs, though. He closed his eyes to not be able to see the black dots that consumed his vision, and nodded.

He, trying to focus his eyes on one point beyond Derek’s back, but as he kept failing he got himself convinced to cooperate and nodded.

“Good. Thank you. Now breathe in as deep as you can, and keep the air in until I reach three.”

It took a couple of times before Stiles could inhale or exhale as slowly as necessary, beyond the count of two, but once he progressed enough to succeed at both, Derek kept praising him in calm, low tone until Stiles gained control on the right breath rhythm on his own.

They stayed like this for a few more minutes, in what was probably a very awkward-looking position. Stiles was slack in Derek’s arms, and wanted to lean forward and bury himself in the body he was already attached to, but was still too aware it was Derek. Somehow, though, he still found comfort in the way Derek surrounded him, blocking any outside disturbance, so he could gather the strength to sit up straight on his own at his own pace.

Stiles had waited for Derek to be the one to first let go, but when Derek’s body warmth, combined with that of the weather, started to get uncomfortable- he was eventually the one to try to pull back, to which Derek reacted carefully, like he was not looking forward to stopping holding Stiles already.

Stiles faced the windscreen again and let his head sink into the headrest, while spreading his chest and enjoying being able to fill it with air again, although all he really wanted was to bend into his himself until he could not be seen anymore.

He could not believe it was Derek to see him like that, of all people. He would be embarrassed even if it was anyone else, sure -- even with Erica, who had her weak side been exposed to him, but still was not very close to -- but in the end, it was Derek who was the Alpha, and by that the one he had to impress the most. Stiles could not take the thought of going through so much just to lose it all just like that.

He was too afraid to enter yet another attack, so he forced himself to look at Derek, who was still next to him, out of the car. As his vision had finally stabilized enough, he was able to actually _look_.

Derek’s eyes were staring right back at him, expression calmer than ever, like he was too deep in thoughts to notice he did not wear his usual scowl. It was more nice than weird to see him like that, if Stiles was honest with himself. It was even somewhat comforting, too, like he had opened up just for him, but not out of pity.

“Thank you,” Stiles murmured. He honestly would have not except Derek to come after him, being able to sense it was only anxiety, and his body was not really hurt.

Derek nodded simply. He did not look like he was going to ask Stiles how he was doing, or either like he was about to go away anytime soon. He just stayed there, like he had the knowledge, or even the _experience_ , that it was better to wait for Stiles to tell him if he needed anything.

“Have you - ?”

“Laura,” Derek responded quickly, and here was his scowl right back again on his face. Not that Stiles could say anything about it, though. He really wished he would have kept his mouth shut, even if Derek probably had predicted the question and accepted Stiles’ curiosity anyway.

“Don’t risk yourself like that anymore,” Stiles warned him, “no matter for what reason you did this for. I’m not an Alpha Werewolf, but I’m going to be turned into something worse. Being stronger than you is not a joke anymore.”

“I know. But so isn’t the persistent loyalty you showed to my pack.”

Stiles really had to fight with everything he had to keep his mouth shut. Those words, out of the blue, were worse than the exhausted state he was at.

Derek looked down at his hand, which leaned on the door’s side frame, then back at Stiles with sincere eyes. “You may be acquired to build skills and instincts of a Greek soldier, but it doesn’t mean that you will become what you are capable of. _We_ are being told that, too. Your urges don’t define you, even if you lose to them at some level, as long as you keep fighting them.”

Derek had already shown his sympathetic side to Stiles before that, in his own unique ways- but he had never _talked_ to him like that before. Stiles himself was stupid enough to talk to him with his barriers down in a couple of occasions -- something he would rarely ever do with the little close people he had, let alone with other semi-enemies -- but he would never think it would encourage Derek to act in the same way.

Solidarity was something he was sure Derek would only exhibit to Scott, but by comparing Stiles’ struggles with his own Werewolf side- Stiles now understood just how much the way the grumpy Werewolf saw him had changed.

Well, as though Stiles himself did not see the other with a different light now as well- he thought of him as grumpy with more fondness than anything. When did _that_ manage to happen?

Stiles eventually nodded his gratitude with a faint smile, after he figured his constant stare would be uncomfortable for someone else who was not deep in thoughts.

Stiles cleared his throat. “I’ll come tomorrow to lend you my laptop… If you need it. Uh, you have Wi-fi, right?”

“Don’t,” Derek said, determined, which made Stiles blink at him in surprise. “Bring it with you when you’re ready to come back, and don’t worry about the rest. Do you need me to stay with you until you get home?”

Stiles could not believe he was still allowed to help them, when he himself had not seen a reason to bother begging for it.

And even more shocking than this- he even cared enough to leave his pack on their own, for _him_?

It looked like he had acknowledged Stiles more that he let it be shown.

“No, I’m fine,” Stiles eventually replied. “Thanks, um, again.”

Derek searched between his eyes, his expression still frowny, but the face’s muscles not so tensed anymore, almost like he was capable of granting Stiles with a smile, but eventually only nodded at him.

At that point, it was enough for Stiles anyway. He was too tired to force back a smile, and he did not want to ruin the moment they had.

Then, before heading back, Derek asked him to rest for a few more minutes before he getting on the road. Stiles would have been cautioned regardless, but the thoughtfulness was appreciated nonetheless.

It should be alarming, how he still did not feel tempted to build back the protective walls, unlike he had done with Scott that morning. Perhaps it was because Derek’s openness was less obvious, or how actively showed he had no intention to judge him on anything else but his lack of seriousness at times. He did not seem to care about his vulnerability or pity his helplessness at all.

Stiles had used to think there was no way for him to be able to feel good about that. He always focused and made himself even shitter whenever he put others in that uncomfortable position, letting them know just how _wrecked_ he really was. That had always been a burden he believed no one should suffer by aside himself. It had always been enough for him to just laugh it off, as he had turned pleased by simply watching them turning relieved for so-called successfully helping him.

He wondered if at some point he would learn how to live with that feeling constantly, to be able to resist the need to get into his comfort zone of sarcasm when it was something more serious than the average difficulties he experienced daily.

Ha; as though he could be optimistic even while not being aware of how unhealthy it was.

The only thought he could allow himself to have this attitude about was getting the favour to Derek. Not only to return the favour, of course- but also because he had a lot going on with him, too, and Stiles was not sure he was going to let his Betas be there for him.

That was the advantage of being the not-shapeshifter one.

-

On the next day, Stiles returned the bow, and the remaining arrows back to Coach Finstock’s storage. He was glad for the training session more than ever, to have some distraction for a while. Even when his mind did wander, though, he thought less of the reasons for the panic attack, and more of what happened during it.

Then, later that day, he brought late lunch for his Father. He always did that whenever something was eating him inside, and he felt bad for thinking about that instead of more serious issues, like his Father’s health- though he knew he should do this more, anyway, as he did not have school.

For the first time, he was not lightened up by a great degree as usual when the Sheriff announced that, very soon, he might have time to start eating more dinners at home, since he was closing the last ties on the latest cases. Thankfully, the Sheriff found it to be due to Stiles’ guilt regard his involvement in the recent incidents in Beacon Hills and did not seem to suspect on another reason, like Stiles not wanting his growing absence from their home to be felt.

The hours afterwards he spent with any kind of diversion that the internet offered, and only came to the Loft the day after, with some ideas to what kind of hideous the Alpha Pack could look for instead of the bank.

They dismissed his plans to track Ms. Morrell, too- who Boyd and Erica had recognized when she had helped Deucalion to create the square of mountain ash that night. It gave Stiles the creeps, since it turned out that he had shared some _really_ intimate details with a future enemy, in a mask of the school’s guidance counsellor.

After discussing over the possibilities Stiles offered, he was told that Derek gave up on the idea of patrolling the streets in search of some traces, since patrolling the bank’s neighbourhood without finding any signs for Erica or Boyd had proved that they knew too well how to cover shreds of evidence. It felt like a somewhat weak excuse, but something in Erica’s eyes told him to not question it further, and he figured they wanted to avoid a sudden encounter with the Alphas for a while, with the trauma still so fresh.

At some point, Derek went away for a while to prepare snacks for all of them, and when he came back- all of his Betas were crowded together around Stiles on the couch, in front of his laptop, watching _Star Wars_.

No one mentioned what had happened two days prior, whether it was because they did not care or pursuant to Derek’s command, who did not treat Stiles any different himself.

During the next days, Stiles would keep coming to the Loft as well, whether he had new places to search in mind or not. No one seemed to mind, though, since the discovery of the bunch of films saved on his hard disk.

Derek never joined them and just read books instead, no matter how much Stiles to convince him to. Nonetheless, Stiles noticed that Derek gradually less wore his usual scowl. Well, it still was there, it was an inseparable trait of Derek after all- only it was changed from the I-trust-you-but-I-dare-you-to-try-using-it-for-your-own-advantage kind to a you-are-allowed-here-more-than-necessary-only-because-the-pack-is-entertained-by-you kind, which was a pretty neat progress.

And if Stiles noticed how sometimes Derek would suspiciously turn to hide his facial expression when he delivered a good burn on someone- then he kept the success of Derek finding something he said funny just for himself.

He wished they could just keep going that way- It would make everything much easier and less stressful for him, so he would stop being the walking nerves he had been the past week; but he could not just leave everything like that. Call him his Father’s son, but there was no such option in him to give up on an obscure research that was not the once mystery about his immense strength.

And yet, there was not a lot to do about the situation, and before he knew it- it was time to get back to his own business.

At Thursday evening, which marked a week since Stiles’ first meeting with Gerard, he headed to the long-term care facility instead of back home after heading off of the Loft. The secret of Gerard’s status still sat heavy in his heart, but he knew that it was necessary.

Just as he parked, he received a text message from an unknown number -- different from the one which gave him the Labour’s location the previous week -- with a warning to not enter the building, and that the next task would be sent to him once he entered his house.

Stiles snorted. “At least I’m not the only one to start worrying after what I did to the Lion,” he murmured to himself.

The uneasiness did not leave him entirely: a buzz at the back of his head that he had always been aware of. But every time the anxiety started claim control over his mind- the thought of his hangouts with the Pack helped him to push it back to its place. He was yet accepted as a part of the group, but at least most of the Werewolves looked annoyed only intentionally, by that point.

Whether he would be able to live through the summer or not, at least it was going to pass much nicer than he had thought.

-

At noon on the following day, Stiles texted Derek he had fallen badly on his leg while training and would not come by, and then took off to the location.

He parked right in front of a swamp. Its water was murky, covered by duckweed and nymphaeas around scattered swamp cypresses. As much as he wanted to have a short dip and cool himself from the hot weather, he knew it was not a really good idea, considering the water-snake like monster could be lurking anywhere under the too-green water.

He tried to prepare himself and read about it, but enough was written about the Hydra Lerna. Every source pictured it differently, too; but with articles laughing of locals who claimed to see a Loch Ness monster living in shallow water, Stiles could not be surprised to have so little known of a well-disguised creature.

He found himself clearing his throat nervously. “Hey there, world. Seems like it's me against you again, all by my own. It's been a good while since the last time we bonded like that - ”

He ducked down in a yelp at a sudden sound that got rushed fast to his direction. Looking above himself, he found out that it was only a group bats he scared off, though.

He slowly got up off the ground. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, pal. I know you missed me, but don't rush on me. Let's take it easy, alright?” Then he sighed and shook his head at itself. “As if the world would pity me even if I actually _could_ talk to it.”

He started walking along the shore, trying to search around as good as he could without having to get into the water- although he wore short pants in case he would have to. As his battlefield was a swamp, he could not lie to himself that he was fast enough to fight with a bow, and so he only brought his own club-like bat.

The den was found surprisingly fast. It was on a little hill inside the swamp, just like an island: a pile of water weeds, with a big hole in it. It was only a dozen meters from Stiles, but he knew he had to tempt the monster out if he wanted to avoid it to have an advantage in the water.

Maintain eye contact with the water, Stiles ducked down to take the bat out of his bag as quietly as possible, and placed it beside him to draw out one of the road flares he had sneaked with him that time- which he had figured to be more easy and effective than fire arrows, and the creativity it took to create them.

Before he prepared the flare, he took a deep breath to fill a chest enough so he would feel less of the pain caused by his heart beating so strong. Then he threw the flare into the den’s hole, and flames and heavy smoke covered the small island, but Stiles could tell there was a movement behind it.

Stiles stood there, hand clutching around the bat in his grip as he waited for something to happen- but a minute passed, and then another one as the fire and the smoke quickly disappeared, and there was nothing left beside quiet, still water and smell of fire.

He walked closer, just slightly further, to try to see the unclear water better; but it was then when something slippery and smoothed coiled itself around his ankle, and pulled him into the swamp’s direction.

Stiles lost balance and fell, but quickly to stuck his bat into the ground and have something to hold onto. His strength was enough to stop the tug, but now he had to do something about the tight grip, which was so firm that it could just as easily blow his leg up like it was a balloon full of only air.

Before he could attempt to hit the scaly, greenish-grey limb- the body itself came out of the water, accompanied by a couple of snarls.

Just like what Stiles had read, the serpent monster was hung- long enough so there was part of it still in the water, despite the tail that sneaked all the way to Stiles’ position, and the throats were stretched high above the water. He was too much focused in blindly pulling off the bad of the ground to count the number of heads, but he vaguely noticed their shape was similar the Blue Eyes White Dragon from _Yu-Gi-Oh_ , only they were coloured with a shade of green that was scarier than the light blue of the cartoon monster.

Not that the lack of taming is a more important difference to mention, or anything.

One of the heads rushed forward, but Stiles rolled aside in time to get away- taking the risk to tangle the tail more around his leg instead of getting even the tiniest drop of the venom that the monster drooled. Another head came to his direction, and this time he hit it away with his bat- which was smashed surprisingly easily; in a matter of seconds it became a stone, which crumbled before falling dead on the ground.

Stiles did the same with the rest of the heads, as they attacked him one after the other, only it did not take long to notice that for every dead head- _two_ new heads burst forth out the remaining necks, instead.

Stunned for a moment too long, the Hydra dragged him once again into the water, this time successfully. After long seconds of struggling in the water, Stiles got up and surrounded all of the thankfully narrow necks with his hands, holding the bat by its two sides for an extra length. He quickly forced the necks to bend down while he was sliding his arms to right behind the heads, so the many mouths would not be able to attack him, and stood right above them so the venom would not reach him as well. The body behind him struggled to move away, but he managed to keep it in place.

Getting to a point where he could circle all of the necks with his hands only, he held the bat with one hand while holding onto the wrist with the other. The problem was, though, that he did not know just what he was supposed to do, considering the heads just kept growing back and even multiplying. The hold of the tail became slightly weaker, but not enough to get free, or even be able to get himself out of the water.

Stiles let out a surprised cry as something pressured into his trapped shin and bore into it, almost all the way through it. He looked down and spotted what looked like a giant crab pinching him.

Where the hell did _this_ came from?

This time, he did not get startled enough to become motionless, and instead bowed down so he could press some of the necks between his chest and the other leg, and by that getting the hand holding the bat free- and then quickly hit the crab on the head with just enough his might to break through its shell with one shot, and then renew his grasp on the Hydra immediately.

Only the Hydra took the chance of the moment of the looser hold and managed to coil the tail even more tightly beneath the wounds, causing more bleeding. Stiles hissed in pain.

“I hope it didn’t catch the bad leg.”

Stiles raised his head to find the owner of the voice raising his brows at him as he entered the swamp, and started working on releasing him from the tail’s grip on his leg.

Meanwhile, on land, he saw Boyd crouching beside his bag as he rummaged inside it, and started handing out the remaining flares to Erica, Isaac and Cora, who were standing around him.

Stiles could _feel_ his Father shaking his head at him from the future; not only he had not noticed he was being followed, but he was so focused at the monster that the sneaky-as-racoon bastards sneaked to get his bag, right in front of him. Maybe he should talk with Coach Finstock to give him extra classes.

“It’s a little bit too far for a run with your pack, don’t you think?” Stiles retorted. He knew he should be thankful for this, as he already started to feel light-headed, and his leg turned number as time progressed, too, but he refused to lose his pride so quickly over getting caught.

Derek pointily looked at the snarling heads Stiles was holding. “It looks like you were upgraded pretty quickly too, from hunting an innocent forest animal to _this_.”

Stiles shrugged. “Well, guess they were impressed enough to make me get them a decent meal this time. I’m sorry if you came all the way here just for me to hunt it first, by the way. I can totally share it with you, if you want. I mean, _that’s_ the reason you came here, right?”

“I’ll take hold of the heads,” Derek ignored him in favour of setting out his plan, “and then you’ll hit two or three heads at a time, and the rest will burn the base of as many necks as they can, so they stop growing.”

Stiles looked back at the other four in front of him, each of them holding at least one flare, and then back at Derek. “Scorch the base, right. That was totally why I brought the flares, exactly for this. I was totally aware of this option and prepared for it.”

At this point, part of his sight turned darker and there was ringing in his ears, which cancelled any argue he had against the plan. He would die otherwise.

Finally -- and probably with some help from his claws -- Derek got the Hydra to weaken its coil enough for Stiles’ leg to get free, and seized the tail between his thighs so it would not try to get to him again. Then he carefully stood up and grabbed the necks behind Stiles, and slowly the changed positions.

“That guy that you talked with, Deaton or whatever, wasn’t even _sure_ it’s going to work,” Cora pointed out. “And even Stiles only meant to bring the flares so he could call for help.”

“Taking conclusions over nothing? Okay, _rude_ ,” Stiles said, offended, as he limped his way closer to the swamp bank. He felt more and more of the injured leg with every step, and the pain of using his numb leg got replaced with the damage the crab had left on it. It seemed like he had lost more feeling in his leg than he had thought.

“You can’t trust your squeaks to always work,” Isaac commented, which would get a remark from Stiles, if he did not feel like he was about to faint at any moment now.

Derek made a familiar scowl, one that Stiles most probably hated more than all. “Stiles, go and -- “

“ -- No.” Stiles tried to stand as straight as he could, although it made his heart to beat in an even bigger distress. Stiles felt frustrated for the thousandth time by the ability of Werewolves to read his body. Not that he covered up his state that good anyway, but it was not the point. “I have to be the one to do this, or it wouldn’t count.”

Derek considered that for a moment, but then nodded at his Betas. “Hurry up and help him.”

They quickly gathered around Stiles, supporting his weight while he hit a couple off of the Hydra’s heads, and lighted the flares for him so he could singe the area where the heads were about to grow out from.

If he was asked later, he would not remember a lot of it though, as soon after the last treating the last head- he lost his consciousness.

-

“You should have told me you were going to face Lerna the Hydra, you could have had more toxin to use on your next battles,” was the voice that made Stiles realize he was not laying on his bed, or even a bed in particular.

Stiles blinked his eyes open, but the light from above him was too shiny to look at. Turning his head, he saw familiar medical equipment, and as he lowered his head on the metal table he saw Deaton, looking down at him next to his bandaged leg. The shin was almost completely bandaged, but Stiles could notice that the exposed lower part was purple-yellowish.

He could easily recognize the pain of a broken bone by now, after years of being a professional accident prone, so he knew it was not quite it. What was for sure, though, was that it was not something that would heal within a week time, before he got his next Labour.

A state he could _not_ allow himself to be in, especially not so early in the deal. And yet, there was nothing he could do- if not at the Labours, then surely not when the Alpha pack attacked again.

As he started breathing heavier with panic, Deaton pressed into Stiles’ shoulders with enough weight to hold him still.

“You’re going to have a full recovery,” Deaton assured with a carefully steady voice. “The most important thing is that the toxin didn’t touch you.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he shook his head over and over, closing his eyes to try to swallow the coming attack down, “I can’t be injured, I can’t -- “

“ -- Stiles, listen to me.” Deaton waited until he was looking directly at him before he continued. “The pain you’re feeling now is mainly the haemorrhage, which will heal in a matter of days. The bone is slightly cracked- but it is not in a worse condition than a stress fracture. You still have a few more weeks to do your assignments until it will not be possible to be ignored anymore.”

That news still was not good enough. Even if Stiles somehow managed to treat his leg well during most of the week, the injury would only deteriorate the more fights he would have. And what was he going to do during the training courses with Coach? The last battle had only proven how much more he had left to learn.

If only there was a Werewolves-healing-based juice here somewhere.

“I get a new Labour every Thursday or Friday,” Stiles told him, since there was no reason to hide that kind of detail anymore, as whoever had brought him there had probably told Deaton everything, “then I have a week to complete them. If I don’t do it, we’re gonna have monsters attacking the town daily.”

Deaton frowned apologizingly, and Stiles hated how he never seemed unfazed, no matter how footless the situation was. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a way to speed up the healing, not without Ambrosia or Nectar. But even then, I have no idea where to get any”

Stiles frowned back at him. He knew Deaton had already known what he was, but not that he tried to do something about it as he expected Stiles’ struggles in the future. “You mean the food and beverage of the gods? I can take those too?”

“In theory, but like I said, I have nothing to test that with. What is more relevant is that, according to the schedule you mentioned, it means that you can rest for almost two weeks to rest before you run out of time, if you take care of the next one at the morning of the last day.”

Stiles released a sarcastic laugh. “I almost ended up being killed today, when I was still entirely healthy. Delaying the Labour will do nothing if I won’t make any progress.”

The door was opened then, and Derek entered the room.

Stiles groaned; the last thing he needed right now was a debriefing, right when he was too stressed out to trust himself to not say anything he should not.

Derek’s scowl was unpleased, the kind he was used to looking on Stiles with more than anything recently- like when Stiles had suggested he would go together with Isaac and Derek into the building at the rescue of the two other Betas, and when Stiles had refused to accept his help with the strife with the Deities.

After thinking about it, Derek actually even had had the same expression just a few hours ago too -- if it was indeed the same day -- when Stiles had insisted he had to hit the Hydra’s heads himself.

All in all, it only showed that Derek was not approved of letting Stiles take an active part in any future plan. Since he seemed to get buddy-buddy with Deaton recently, to the point even Cora had heard of him and had mentioned his name in relation to the Hydra- maybe he did not need Stiles anymore anyway.

The rest of Derek’s body looked loose overall, though, which meant he held within any aggression he had, even while examining Stiles’ other leg- at the other side of the steel table.

Stiles closed his eyes, hoping that looking weak would prevent Derek from asking anything.

It turned out to be a good decision, at least when it came to his body, as the pain slowly started to vanish, like he was slowly losing his conscious again.

“Stiles,” Deaton said, retreating his hands from his shoulders. “None of the times you defeated monsters, with or without help, was a fluke. Fighting while in pain is deep in your instincts.”

Stiles pointed with his head at Derek’s direction. “You mean if our big guy here will not ruin other parts of my body.”

Deaton tone suddenly sounded amused. “Do you mean Derek, who’s busying himself right now with absorbing your pain?”

Stiles snapped his eyes open and sat up- regretting the quick movement slightly less than expected.

It was Derek’s arm which rested on his knee, but not for the reason Stiles had thought it to be for. He stared at the blackened veins -- just like Scott had shown Stiles once -- and then at the shade of amusement on the deadpan face above them.

Stiles licked his lips, feeling awkward at the intimacy, even though they both had already experienced being together in vulnerable situations- both physically and mentally. This time it felt different, though, as though there it was out of proximity as much as it was out of compassion.

Then again, he may just have wanted to ruin Stiles’ plan of being in a condition as bad as possible to avoid being questioned.

“I hope you don’t think it makes me owe you anything,” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

Derek’s jaw stiffened, but Deaton talked before he had a chance to reply.

“You’ll have to get to the hospital to receive a splint for your leg. After every assignment, you’ll have to come to me right away to check if you need any further treatment.”

He could talk with Melissa to not tell his Father, and then remove and hide the splint whenever he was home -- as long as he would finish all of his chores when he was on his own -- but there was no way he could pay without his Father knowing about this.

Stiles shook his head. “The insurance will contact my Dad at some point. Even if I’m able to block their mails, he may need to cover some of the charges. I can’t let him know about any of this.”

“I’ll pay for you,” Derek almost startled him.

What was it with Derek for paying him for things he did not ask for- first to Coach and for his bat, and now this? Stiles found him a jerk just for that. Where was he when he needed money for tickets to conventions?

Being more serious, though, he also did not like just how poor he found Stiles to be. He may have had to spend money these days more than he had ever let himself, but he rather use as much as he could before his Father would put a stop to it than being taken pity on.

“Don’t decline it,” Derek said before Stiles could express his annoyance. “We need to keep it all discreet, and this is how we cover for each other.”

Stiles rubbed his eyes. “Why do you pick the most annoying opportunities to become so thoughtful? And don’t pretend that’s it’s not because you think I’m -- “

Before he knew it- Stiles was picked up off of the metal table, and a second later he was held bride-style -- because _of course_ \-- by Derek, who kept his hold under his legs noticeably gentler.

“Thank you,” he told to Deaton casually before he turned out and headed outside.

“What- How dare- Fuck, _let me down_.” Stiles desperately wriggled his body in Derek’s arms.

Derek raised his brows, eyeing Stiles. “You know you can’t stand.”

“I still have my other leg to _skip_ , jackass. I don’t care if I have to do it all the fucking way to the hospital, just put me _down_!”

Derek stopped only after he surrounded the counter. Huffing, he gradually lowered Stiles’ legs, as though he was letting Stiles test the surface first.

Stiles made the mistake of toeing the ground with the injured leg, just to try it- but even the slight touch made him see stars. He quickly bent it, and looked confused at the lack of shoe on the end of the bandaged leg.

“All your stuff is in the Jeep,” Derek told him before he could ask. “I drove you here with it. There’s no way you have enough energy to even cross the road while skipping, I’m only getting you to the car.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles said as he moved his weight from Derek to the ground, and just like Derek had warned him, he was _not_ strong enough to carry himself too far.

He reluctantly did not object when Derek took his hand and put it over his shoulders, and very slowly they made their way to the door- and hopefully outside, too, which seemed as a much more distance to go than what Stiles remembered.

“What happened after I passed out?” He asked, trying to not pant too loud.

“We buried the immortal head under a boulder on a desolate area on our way back, then we brought you here.”

Stiles frowned in confusion. “What do you mean by _burying_ it? What happened to the body?”

“We both ripped the head off, and then the rest of the body crumbled, just like the rest of the heads.”

Stiles was glad he did not have the actual memory of killing with his bare hands yet again, although he surely preferred having that one -- when he had done it with someone else -- than the other.

“Are you okay?” Derek shook him out of his thoughts. Stiles did not even notice he stopped.

“Yeah, sorry,” Stiles croaked. He cleared his throat and then started jumping again on the healthy, though already tired leg to the darkness out of the door. “I just remembered, um,” he searched for a good excuse when the thought suddenly hit him. “Oh shit, I wanted to ask Deaton about Ms. Morrell, his sister. We put that aside and tried to focus on the Alphas, but it’s time we try tracking her too.”

Derek did not have time to reply as an SUV was entering the parking lot.

“You owe me driving sessions _and_ paying over my driving test.” Erica declared as she got out of the passenger seat. “I don’t know who let Isaac pass, but because of him I’ve had way more near-death incidents today than I signed up for.”

“If _someone_ stayed on Google Maps instead of looking through other apps,” Isaac then came from the other side of the car, “at least half of them wouldn’t happen.”

Boyd and Cora went out of the car as well.

“Nice new car, Dude.” Stiles let himself sneaking a pat on Derek’s shoulder. “No wonder you could follow me so well.”

Stiles’ smile fell the moment Derek returned him a look with raised eyebrows, which Stiles knew -- by a too thorough experience -- was not because of his hand, but because of a slip-up. He looked at the rest of the pack, which had the same kind of expression, though some with only a lone raised brow.

Stiles would have joked on that if he had not just brought up a dangerous subject, _all by himself_ , while the whole pack was presented; and even if he had had his Jeep’s key- he still used Derek to support some of his weight, while having his injured leg folded above the ground.

“Oh, what, you think- you think I said something?” He made an innocent expression, pointing at himself. “Don’t worry, it was just my tummy. Hey, Derek, you think we could stop somewhere before we go to the hospital, you know, to treat my very, _very_ injured leg, which might get worse if we don’t hurry up?”

“We just drove back and forth for hours to find the Hydra’s remaining and get the vet some drops of its venom so he’d agree to close his veterinary to look after you,” Cora went off, “so enough with that shit. You give us explanations, and you do it _now_.”

“Cora,” Derek started with a warning tone, “we agreed we’ll wait.”

“If I remember correctly, he agreed on something _too_.”

Stiles swallowed. Could there really not be an easy, smooth way to get out of this situation?

“It- It’s too dangerous, okay?” Stiles stuttered, hurrying to put a stop to it. “I know that we’re supposed to share everything about anything, but if I can’t keep that one in secret, then the same thing that happened when we tried to fight the Alphas will most certainly happen again, with or without me there aside from you.”

Isaac snorted. “Yeah? You’re sure that that’s what you were told?”

Something in Isaac’s question felt weird to Stiles, and he could not respond for that unknown reason. What was he missing out?

No one of the other four looked like they were about to speak any further, though. Stiles then turned to look at Derek, who had an irregular unreadable expression. He did not say anything before he nudged Stiles to move again and led him to his Jeep, where he helped Stiles to sit inside his jeep.

Stiles wanted to take a proper look at him, but as he stepped to stand next to the vehicle, he proposedly did not show his face visible to him. When he looked away, the of the pack was gathered in front of him, taking control of the conversation from their Alpha.

“We were hinted,” Cora came to stand in front of him, “by someone that you recently bonded with, that you are trained with monsters to start working for another team.”

Stiles felt the blood leaving his face.

They knew about Gerard all along. It was probably the reason to why he was afraid and refused to meet Stiles, too.

The deal had surely been cancelled by that point, without his knowledge, and even in the best-case scenario, the Labours will become even harder, while the town would be simultaneously attacked frequently.

Other people were saved from the Lion and the Hydra, but the town he was doing this for -- and the people he cared about that lived in it -- was not, and was going to get even worse monsters, instead.

He could care less about the deadly stares he got from everyone, because even if something happened, it did not matter that much anymore; so he was sitting there in silence, holding desperately into his sides, and his body shook with the idea that this was it, and he was responsible for it all by himself.

Why was he so fucking _stupid_? Why could he not be more careful?

“What did you do to him?” Stiles asked, weakly.

“If we _did_ , we wouldn’t be here, would we?” Cora rolled his eyes. “He found the Loft, and right after you came to tell Derek what you’ve found out, he came for some... _coordinate expectations_ talk. He was there with his followers, or whatever they call themselves, because he _knew_ there was nothing we could do against him. He threw that warning right before he left. Since then, we tested you to see if you tell us about your _own_ meeting, before we’d uncover whatever idiotic thing he blackmailed you to do.”

Stiles felt much better now, washed with relief; the deal was not in danger, unless the real test was to not get separated from others, while doing almost everything that put the existence of his sense of loyalty out of the question?

It was much less likely, though, and he had something else and sure to deal with at that moment.

“So is it true?” The heavy, too clear disappointment in Erica’s tone made him wince. “He also has a say in what you have to do?”

How could he say anything back, when the person she was talking about had electrified her and Boyd, to the point they had run away from their Alpha?

Stiles had helped them that day, distracting Gerard so he was busy with him instead of doing something to them- and now he was trying to do the same, only while doing jobs _for_ him.

He knew it was a worthy enough of a reason to not feel ashamed of it, considering his cause- but the uneasiness was still there because of the mere fact he had to work with Gerard behind their back.

At any case, though, even if he _had_ failed somehow- he could not let himself feel regret for it.

Eventually, he locked eyes with Erica, slowly straightening up confidently. “You wanted to kill Lydia because you had a _suspicion_ , so I’m doing the same thing: acting according to priorities.”

“What kind of a sick priority do you find in working with someone you don’t even need to suspect?” She raged. “Do you remember how you were almost killed that day, even though you did nothing against the gods he represents- or was that just another show?”

Stiles’ eyes widen at her. Did she really believe he actively worked against them, and betraying beyond he actually did, in a sense of cooperating with the enemy?

“No, gods, no it _wasn’t_! Look, I met with him only _after_ that night, even if until now he was the one to come with the ideas of what I should do, we’re not working _together_ , and I’m not part of his _team_. And he can’t train me to turn into his own war machine when this time he was so afraid to talk with me, that he wasn’t even the one to tell me about the Hydra.”

“Then if that’s all you have to do with each other, then how did you just happen to find that clue that Kali left you?” Boyd’s expression was unimpressed above his joined hands- almost a perfect copy of the stance of his Alpha.

Stiles frowned. “Who’s Kali?”

“The one with the feet claws,” Isaac said, touching his face and wincing by a memory as he did so.

“Why do you think it was her?” Stiles asked, confused.

“You talked about a _she_ who helped you,” Boyd noted, leaving Stiles even more perplexed. Why would they believe in such bizarre scenario where any of the sides -- both Gerard and the Alpha Pack -- would agree to work together?

“Yeah, but it wasn’t _her_ , why would you even- ” Stiles cut himself off, rubbing his head with a groan. “All those monsters weren’t suddenly dispatched because I helped you, okay? The deal I made has _nothing_ to do with it. The crystal was left for me as a kindhearted gesture of help, and it was someone else entirely- Gale, the companion of Hecate, the goddess. She _is_ trustworthy, I swear. She even saved me once before, back when Hera, who’s the goddess who hates me more than everyone, tried to prevent my delivery, and Gale was the midwife-” He shook himself out of the story he began to tell. “Never mind, a story for another day. Point is, she has nothing to do with him, okay?  No evilness on her side. She’s just a very nice gal. Named Gale.”

Stiles blinked, and banged his head on the imaginary table that he made with his hands. It was the worst time ever for his rambling, and he had not killed a Hydra just to be killed by Werewolves too pissed to deal with the way he kept drifting out of the subject.

“ _Anyway_.” He looked at them again. “She filled so many holes in my backstory to not make sense, even if by telling me that _gods_ have been after my ass basically ever since I’ve been a fetus. Then she even guided me how I can call the gods to try to make some kind of arrangement with them, which eventually led me to him. That was it.”

“And just _why_ were you alluded to him, of all people, exactly?” Isaac asked, clearly the most incredulous of the group.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “I guess that those curls in your hair blocking the fact from entering your head, but gods _are_ vicious. It’s for the pack’s sake that I’m afraid for you, but I really hope you won’t have to ever be proven. I don’t have any ability to overcome your natural lying detector abilities, remember?”

“Answer him already,” Cora demanded as she took a step towards him, but Derek was fast to get to her and pull her back to her place.

Stiles got the message, though, and hurriedly complied.

“He works with Hera; _has_ worked for a while now, because evil minds think alike or some shit. Basically, instead of having monsters popping up out of nowhere and attack anyone in sight in search after me, now I’ll bring myself to them. That’s it, that simple. Stopping the consequences of huge monsters bringing this whole town down, which would happen otherwise, is the only thing that made me take the trouble to see his ugly face again, I _swear_.”

“And how do you know this that godly fella of yours, and whoever she accompanies, aren’t planning something else, if they aren’t supposed to like us?” Isaac asked further, seemingly still trying to find something to prove his story to be a false one.

Stiles threw his head back, frustrated. “If you only let me tell the story _chronology_ then I’m sure -- “

Isaac lightened his eyes gold and quirked a brow at him. Derek built a low growl in his chest, apparently unpleased by his Beta’s decision to take the tension in the air one step further without permission.

Stiles felt thankful for Derek giving him the time to explain himself, but he also knew Derek would prevent them to do as they wanted only to some degree. Not that he could blame him, though, with how awfully the conversation was going.

But then, out of the blue, he started to substantiate his words, too.

“Hecate is the reason we are connected to the moon,” he told to his pack. “Lycaon tried to worship the moon so she can use her powers as the goddess of witchcraft, as well as of the dark side of the moon. She couldn’t help them herself, but when the other Deities heard about that, she was ordered to punish his descendants by turning them savage every full moon. Out of all the gods, it makes sense the most for her to help.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Stiles exclaimed, almost forget to mind his injured leg as he jerked excitedly in his seat. “And all of them were surrounded by Hecatolite,” Stiles shared a look with each of the formerly taken triad, “a stone that’s sacred for her, so she could hear your distress. Then there was Gale, who was one of the midwives during my birth, and stopped Hera from trying to kill me during it. She has more than enough reasons to remember me, so once she heard I was involved with you, she pressed Hecate to help us. That’s how the torches were lighted up that day- they are also connected to Hecate.”

As the one to found the torches himself, Isaac found nothing to say against that.

Thanks to Derek, he was able to find the right, undeniable piece of information, inside the mess that was in his head, to get them to finally start to believe to him. Stiles was finally relieved.

“So you _did_ use help from dome merciful Deities.” Cora shook herself out of Derek’s grip. “But let me guess- in that nice, little deal you made, you were told to make sure we will never find the Alphas again, and _him_ especially, right? You got your chance to save the town as long as you distract and mislead us.”

“What- ” Stiles waved his hands around with exasperation at her claims; how did she just found more ways to make it sounds like he had committed something worse than he had actually done, like he was a traitor, no matter what? “Why would I know where the Alphas are? They -- ”

“ -- Not _all_ them, but we understood from Deucalion that you met with him, and that’s more than enough. Your doings before you knew who he was only matter in a sense of how it effects on what you are doing with him _now_ , and that’s putting your gods-or-whatever issues first, and use us as long as he’s still interested us, because that was your real intention to join us all along.”

Stiles blinked at her, barely hearing everything she said after the name she had mentioned. “Deucalion?”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to pretend to be stupid, it’s too late for that. I don’t give a shit what he said he’d do if you told us, because I’m about to make sure you would have the same fate he had, and not have eyes to see whatever he’ll do to you.”

Then the realization finally hit him: the entire time they were not talking about Gerard, but about _Deucalion_.

They had figured it was the only explanation to how Stiles had known how to find them, and that the Gigante they had clashed with that night had also been Deucalion’s doing. They did not know Hera, but they understood enough to know that someone who could go against a child of her husband, could potentially also work with a Werewolf.

But if it was Deucalion who had told them to suspect Stiles, then how had he known in the first place? Even if the Gigante had led him to the conclusion that Stiles was a Demigod, how could he know that now someone was sending him to fetch other monsters?

“Stop acting like it’s too hard to remember everything you told him about us,” Cora’s voice was close to a growl, “spill it out.”

Now that he did not have to deal with the fear of the deal being destroyed anymore, his mind got clear enough to question _their_ morality.

“In case Derek didn’t tell you,” he eventually responded, “I’ll let you know that what triggered this whole all thing in the first place was your dear Brother convincing me to get stronger, which was because, that’s right- I _asked_ him to let me help with the rescue, back when I had no clue about anything. I have no reason to turn like that against you right now.” He directed his gaze at Derek. “Can you teach your pack the difference between a nasty person and an enemy, who would stab you in the back while keeping a cool face?”

Derek stared at him surprised, and then something in his posture changed: there was irony in his smile, and a distant in his eyes that Stiles had not seen for months; instead of shielding his chest with his hands, as usual, he shifted his weight a little, as though to emphasize his confidence in his part in his pack- or, perhaps, confidence from _being_ a part in a pack. It was as though Stiles was an unwelcome stranger to him all over again, with bad potential.

If until that point in the conversation he was neutral, and gave both sides a chance to prove him wrong, with only limited intervention- then this was where he could not keep whatever that went through his head to himself anymore.

“I did. But since you’re a friend of Scott, they are a bit confused.”

At the mention of his best friend, Stiles forgot all at once about the tender situation he was in. He sat up straighter, his whole body stiffened, and this time not because of pain. “What about him?”

“He made all those speeches of how I was doing it all wrong and behaving inhumanity, all while he only pretended to go according to the plan we agreed on, as a part of my pack.” Derek raised his eyebrows, pointily. “Sounds familiar?”

Stiles knew that the sudden coldness Derek displayed towards him was about his relation to Scott: something he had been aware of, as he had demonstrated every time he had made Stiles promise to not tell Scott anything, but now he was reminded of that for another reason; a reason that, behind his fake indifference, somehow bugged him enough to change his attitude.

Then again, getting hurt by Scott like that did not make sense at all.

Stiles was beyond the point of thinking there was no heart underneath Derek’s glares, which noticed and cared of how his surroundings were doing; watching him as an Alpha during quiet times, as last week had been, had certainly proved it. But even if Scott was that important to Derek that he could get negatively affected by him, with something other than hate, there was no way Scott would do or say anything that Derek did not deserve for wanting to kill Lydia -- and Jackson right after her -- without considering seriously other options.

“What are you talking about?” Stiles’ voice was close to snap. “He joined your pack by _choice_ , just like you defeated Gerard _together_! I know he didn’t tell you all the details about the fake pills that he made with Deaton, but he had never made anything _for_ Gerard. He would not have chickened out and do it, even if I broke in with my Jeep later than I did. And you have to know it too, you _let_ him giving Gerard the bite, after all, right?”

Derek stared at him silently, but the way he looked more tensed than Stiles had ever seen him spoke volumes by itself. Even Isaac had to look aside, jaw clenched.

Stiles turned his gaze between the two, confused. “I don’t get it, what did I miss? I mean, he _did_ hint you he was going to do that, didn’t he?”

Derek’s eyes kept drifted to other points in Stiles’ face before being directed back at his, as though he struggled to not break the eye contact.

Stiles shook his head, refusing to accept the reality which made Derek reacting like that.

Because Stiles _knew_ his best friend, he truly did; they were too close to not to.

All those years of carrying an extra inhaler for him, and knowing to nickname him a puppy way before he became literally a half of that; for Stiles, saying he could not hurt a fly could not even begin to describe his friend.

No matter how many times he had behaved like an asshole ever since the bite, Scott had overcome that behaviour by that night. Stiles, himself, had not wished well for Derek on a couple of occasions, and quite seriously so when he had planned to kill Lydia- but there was a huge difference between wanting someone gone, or making him go through hell after he had already been disillusioned.

“He- No, no way, he would never- He _knew_ what it meant to you, okay? He’d refused to do something like that, even if he didn’t have another choice to get rid of the bad guy.”

Derek looked down at himself pointily, huffing, before he raised his head up again.

“Even if it’s another bad guy?”

It felt like someone hit Stiles in the chest.

“You- ” Stiles swallowed. “Well, you’re not exactly the most innocent thing in the world, but it’s not a _bad_ bad guy scenario, and even _then,_ I’m not sure he could do it.”

Any shade of smile was completely gone from Derek’s face at that point, like he turned completely back in time, to the period where he still did not know how to do any other expression that was not a scowl.

“He’s never thought I’ve ever acted in a decent way, so I guess that’s the answer for you.”

Stiles wanted to shout back that it could not be true, to feel as confident as he could that the version he would get from Scott about it would make his to look ridiculous- just like a true bro for life needs to.

Then again, although Stiles could not -- even if it was an improvement to the once _could_ _never_ \-- trust Derek at the same level he did with his best friend, he could not convince himself Derek was bluffing, either. Derek may have only told him whatever it was that he had chosen to say, but he could not ignore the stiff way he held his jaw, which he would have not fake.

“Even more of a reason to why you can’t let him get away with yet another bullshit excuses _again_ ,” Cora brought them back to the main topic, facing Derek. “He just keeps bringing more and more troubles. First he made Deucalion revengeful for having Kali killed, and now he makes you follow him after whatever impossible creature he finds next. We can’t let him stick with us when he wanders around in search of how to screw us next, like that Scott.”

Derek’s eyes widened a little by that, and when he stared back at Stiles, it seemed like the light he had seen Stiles in was finally gone. He was taking a direct, comprehensive look directly at him, instead of looking in a narrow, general way.

For the next half a minute, Stiles tried his best to level him back with a daring gaze, because he should have known by now that he was far more than just Scott’s friend. He would naturally defend his friend’s honour, but he defiantly was a person of his own, with his own opinions.

When Derek finally made up his mind, though, Stiles almost wished he would keep treating him like before, so he would get away from the unavoidable.

“So long he stayed on the same page with us, we made it alive. So, is there anything else you can tell us?”

Stiles knew he could leave it that way- Deucalion _had_ to have something to do with his Labours, after all, or else he could not have figured that much about what Stiles was doing, and so there was some truth to it. He was just not a big part of it as the other thought him to be.

…Hopefully.

Either way, not having a way to know what was happening behind the scenes- Stiles now had even more of a reason to stay in the fight against the Alpha, with this discovery that it had to do with him not just because he had helped Derek. He could let them continue to believe whatever they thought to be true, and Stiles would just tell them that he stopped getting the Labours from him, and later on, once the Alpha Pack was defeated- he would just part ways with them, and it would not matter anymore.

The thing is, it was not only about that.

It was a lie to say he only wanted to win Derek’s trust because he needed to work together with him as well as possible; it felt _bad_ to disappoint him, and not only because he had worked so hard to get Derek, a man continuously on the run, to stop suspecting his motives.

And the reason for that was because Stiles grew to trust him _back_ , with how he went to check with him the bank after Stiles had discovered about it and even made him familiar with his new house. It did not matter how many arguments had occurred before all the mentioned events had happened, because the decision had always been in Derek’s hands, as he had more control than Stiles on those matters.

Until that point, Stiles had always chosen to hide the truth and ignore his feelings, for as long as he could, so long it meant to save the others’ lives. But things never went according to his plan, and breaking their trust once again would not end as well as it did this time.

Stiles sighed. “I don’t get orders from Deucalion.”

“ _What_?” came the call out of most of the group, while Derek only frowned harder, patiently waited for Stiles to explain himself.

“You didn’t say any name at the beginning, so I guessed we were talking about the same person- the mediator. I can only guess that Deucalion knows about this because he’s gonna be part of one of the Labours. I was sure you were talking about the mediator.”

“What mediator?” Derek asked further.

“The one that if I tell you about, whether you throw me out of the research team or not, the next Gigante might burst out of the floor of your own building.”

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Cora released a crazy laugh, looking skyward as she shook her head to herself.

“You talked about him like we all know him and are hated by him, even before you realized who we were talking about,” Boyd pointed out. “What if we accidentally hurt him, without knowing it’s him? Won’t it be better if you just told us?”

“I’m putting 5 bucks it’s Mr. Harris, if anyone else is in,” Isaac raised a hand to get the others’ attention.

Stiles’ heart stopped beating for the second time that night.

He knew they would not find Gerard accidently, and so it was a risk he did not mind about. The problem was that, if Boyd had managed to figure out that much, then it meant they were going to realize it sooner than later anyway, and that what made him frustrated more than anything. All they had to do was to roll the conversation in their head again, until someone would be the first to piece it all together right away.

And then, before they knew it, they would have Gerard’s people coming after them, too, on top of things.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

Stiles bit his lips, feeling more defeated than ever.

Just how was he trying to protect them, again?

“Don’t.”

Stiles lifted his head up sharply, almost losing his breath out of shock.

“You wouldn’t have hesitated to tell us if it wasn’t going to put us in a worse position than we are at now,” Derek said in a serious tone, that Stiles found it unbelievable to go with the shocking words that came out of his mouth, “so I don’t expect you to.”

Stiles just stared back with no response, not knowing what to do with that.

“I’m so fucking done with you,” Cora growled at Derek before she entered Derek’s car, leaving the scene.

The other three seemed to be evenly skeptical about Derek’s decision, but did not show any intention to protest.

“Go back to the Loft, I’ll come later,” Derek told his Betas without looking at them, and threw the keys to Isaac.

While Stiles started to internally freak out over the fact that Derek and he were going to stay alone, in the small space of his Jeep, after that confront- he suddenly noticed that the Isaac did not do as he was asked. After a moment where he stared at the keys, while the two others went to the car- he raised his head to look at Stiles.

“I so can’t believe I’m going to say this, but,” he struggled with the words he was about to say for a moment before he continued, “I agree that we should let you go, this time. Whatever source that brought us to Erica and Boyd is, it might also bring us again to Deucalion. We already know he’s involved with them in some aspect. Everything you’ve just told us was the truth, so I know what you did for Erica and Boyd was out of your own will, as stupid as it is. I wouldn’t have done the same to you, but you did, just like Scott. So, I owe you one, but _just_ for this time, so don’t get used to it.”

Stiles frowned at Isaac suspiciously. For a moment it had sounded like Isaac had taken side with him, which was not possible. _At all_.

Isaac shrugged. “Well, just wanted to point out why I let my Alpha stay alone with you, even though the Soccer Mum Car loses its point if the Mum itself isn’t there.” He jerked his head to where Derek’s car was, and then smirked, going back to his mocking attitude towards Stiles- only it was somewhat friendlier this time. “But I guess that right now you need a keeper to look after you a little more, in replacement of the one who’s not here to put you to bed.”

Stiles closed his eyes as he tried his best to hold himself back- but once he felt his face heated, he knew there was no coming back.

Maybe it was because he was tired.

Maybe it was because he was sick of running from troubles just to run into other ones.

Maybe it was because he could still feel the blood of his shredded heart on his hands.

Either way, what Stiles did next, was not worthy to get any excuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/168552844186/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-7)


	8. Chapter 8

“Stiles?”

The one being called groaned and pushed himself out of his bed. Whether he had been too tired to care or had not remembered to, Stiles regretted not having a shower last night, as he felt stinker than ever and had an ugly sensation overall.

How _had_ he made it to his bed, come to think about it?

Putting his legs carefully on the floor -- it hurt just to move it, which was how he luckily had been reminded he had an injured leg -- he noticed he was barefoot. It made him wonder even more about the previous night: not being able to recall everything from the night before usually meant he was too out of it to think of something like getting off his shoes.

He slowly made his way downstairs to the direction the voice came from – that of the Sheriff -- trying to fake his limping by heavy steps of sleepiness. It was a good thing he was still wearing his jeans from last night, which covered the bandaged leg.

His Father was sitting on the sofa in the living room, testing him with eyes that were not less tired than his. Stiles knew it had to be close to noon by that point, but both of them had more or less had the same amount of sleep during the last few days; why did they have to do any kind of talk right now?

“Is there a reason you’re looking even more terrible than me?” His Father asked, his suspecting wrinkles deepening.

Stiles could not feel anything but guilt- here he was, spending his summer vacation on playing the town's hero, when to his Father it was going to be another investigation that was never closed, as he did not solve it to know for sure the criminals had been found and gotten what they deserved.

What if, eventually, he would have to decide between saving a stranger's life to making his Father losing his job, all because, while Stiles had all the right clues, the Sheriff was entirely clueless?

“Oh, nothing unusual, you know,” Stiles hurried to answer before the sadness would reach his face, drumming his fingers on his sides nervously, “just hanging up with friends 'till late, like any normal teenager during the summer.”

“I thought you said Scott is busy with summer school, when he isn't at work or taking lessons for this useless motorcycle license.”

“Well, that obviously why he has time for me only during the nights.” Stiles huffed a short laugh, joining his hands like he was confident in himself.

Only that was not how Stiles acted when he knew he was telling the truth, and his Father raised skeptical eyebrows at him, knowing it very well.

Stiles rubbed his face. “Okay, I wasn't with Scott, alright? I was at Isaac's. That poor kid needs a company now that he's on his own.”

Then came the memory of the previous night, with the teen lying helpless on the ground as Stiles had been beating into him the outburst of his rage, until someone -- presumably Derek -- had knocked him out.

Because of course the first lie to jump out of his mouth would be Isaac related, and about nothing other than befriending him.

To think Stiles could have kept at it until Isaac could not heal from the effect on his body anymore, even though he had not been under any influence or even possessed. All it had taken for him to lash out had been a meaningless comment about his Mother, when the joke might have not even been about her. Not that the cause even mattered, as the point is that the fear he had told Scott about, back when they had discussed his need to train, had become reality.

Just like Stiles had known all along.

Even the timing was something to be in awe from- just when he had earned Isaac’s acceptance; made the kid who had abused for years by his own Father to get sense of assurance about him, to be comfortable enough to show his friendly side to him.

“Is that why you kept bothering my deputies about wanting to know where Derek Hale lives now?” The Sheriff shook him off of his flashback.

“That might be the reason, yeah.” Stiles wore a slight sided smile, feeling more and more hollowed for coming up with that story, no matter how good of a lie it turned to be.

His Father shook his head. “I really don't want to know how you eventually figured it out on your own.”

“At least be fair, Dad. Give me some time to warn the school's secretary before you start searching for signs of hacking.” As much as Stiles did not like it, he kept rolling with it just to clear any bit of suspect. If anything, at least his Father had to be protected.

“Or I could arrest you right now, since you already gave me your guilty plea.”

Stiles made sure to look as hurt as possible. “But Dad, I told you, it was for a good cause!”

“The question is if he sees your efforts as a good thing,” his Father crossed his arms. Even though he was clearly amusing himself with some empty threats, Stiles did not miss just how pleased his Father had become since Stiles had reached the age where it was legal to lock him behind bars.

Stiles tried to not stretch the silence too much as he tried to remain as smooth as possible. “Um, well, you see, he's not the type of people to admit those things. But, like, he never actually attempted to kick my butt out of the door like he kept promising to do.”

And the previous night had been no exception, although it had not been because of his Alpha. He had surely wanted to kick Stiles’ ass more than ever, but had not been capable of- not while he had looked up at Stiles with scared eyes that reflected an acceptance of his fate, as though he had turned back to a fragile little kid, too weak to fight the one who bullied him anyway.

And Stiles, seeing it all clearly enough, had just _kept going_.

“Alright,” the Sheriff sighed and raised his finger at him, buying the lie painfully too fast. “But don't get used to those hours. I don't want to hear only snores when I come to check on you in your room for the rest of the summer.”

“Wait, Dad,” Stiles stopped him just as he started to push himself up the couch, “I- I need to talk to you about something.”

The little he could do was admitting to his Father that he knew the truth, because that was a lie he did not have reason nor right to keep hiding from him any longer.

The Sheriff sank himself back into the couch, looking at Stiles expectantly with worried eyes. Stiles felt like he lost his courage when he had not even tried to gather it in the first place.

He tried to just blurt it out, but as usual, his mouth betrayed him- this time by losing his voice.

“What's the matter, Son?” His Father turned more concerned by the minute, tapping the empty place beside him.

Stiles shook his head firmly- both as a refusal to the Sheriff's gesture and the empathy towards him.

“I- I lied.” was what came out of him when he could finally make a sound.

The Sheriff stared at him perplexed, but gave him the time to explain himself.

“I lied about Isaac. Yes, I met him yesterday, but I lost control, just like with Mr. Linus. And I hurt him, Dad, I hurt him badly.” His voice turned trembling at that point, tears filled his eyes. “He didn't need to go to a hospital afterwards, Derek was there to stop me just in time, but -- ”

“ -- Heracles, right? That's how your Mother used to call you?”

Stiles froze. For a moment the whole world around him followed suit - everything stopped except his heart, which thundered in his chest.

“She told me she gave you that stupid nickname to appease... his wife.” The Sheriff snorted unhappily. “Especially for that one time where you were given to be suckled by her, when Claudia left you in the woods, during her postnatal depression.”

Stiles' next breath came sharp and shallow; it was another thing he felt no right to know about. Even if it was about him, and affected him greatly in the long run- it felt like he was exposed to too private details from his Mother’s life.

And even if he deserved to know, just so he would start to realize just how difficult he had made his parents' life- then he surely should not have let his Father live through those memories again.

He was the worst son ever.

“This,” the Sheriff continued, “was one of the only two things your Mother agreed to tell me, in addition to your father being somehow a divine being.”

Stiles took notice of how his Father made no special reaction while mentioning his biological one; he did not grimace, or even sneered, while clearly not feeling indifference towards that subject. It might just show how confident he was in the bond he had had with his wife, which lighted warmth in Stiles’ heart.

A short-lived one, though, while reminding himself the real topics they were treating.

A lot about their relationship depended on how this inevitable talk would go, and Stiles knew that both of them were aware of it.

“How did you know?” Stiles asked after a few moments of silence, which was not really awkward or tensed, but still uncomfortable.

“That you found out?” His Father made a small, knowing smile. “When you have to talk about something bad, you'll always prefer to talk about the second thing that bothers you the most. And if anything could be bothering you so much that you’ve snapped again...”

Stiles swallowed at the mention of the incident.

On third grade, Stiles had started taking guitar lessons. He had no special draw to music, but it was something to keep him busy enough instead of playing outside, like his parents had forbidden him to do. For Stiles, on the other hand, it had later on become his way to spend time with his Mother at moments she had wanted him away, because of the frontotemporal dementia she had suffered from. Showing the guitar was like a proof he had no mean intentions that the disease had made her believe he had had, and then she had let him play for her, since she loved music so much r. Even though that method had succeeded only less than half the times he had tried it, it was still a lot more than nothing.

A month after her death, he had gotten to a point where he could not contain himself with people being so careful around him anymore. And so, as his music teacher, Mr. Linus, had corrected him with a too quiet tone, while explaining that it was okay if he wanted to choose another song that would remind him less of his mother- Stiles had went into a fit of raged and hit him with his guitar, killing him on the spot.

Following that, Stiles had been sent to a rehabilitative farm – which, ironically, had had a symbol of the famous good-natured Centaur mentor from the Greek mythology, Chiron -- where he had been treated by animal therapy for a few months. He had returned calmer, but also, to his Father's terror- even stronger than before, due to the daily activity.

Scott had been told he had been on a holiday, like everyone else had had, but Stiles had told him anyway, warning him.

“I always knew it was only a matter of time,” the Sheriff went on without referring out loud the scene they both remembered too well, “and then there was your odd behavior during the last few days, too, that you'll be happy to hear I did my own reading about, for once- on raising adopted kids.”

Stiles was shocked. His Father had never said this word before, or even hinted about it. Not as a joke, and not even on moments he was disappointed with Stiles.

“The adolescence is all about building your own identity, deciding whether you want to continue in the same way you’ve gotten used to or change to a different direction,” he declaimed, clearly not finding that information very interesting. “I gave up reading more once they started repeated about this same idea, just in other words, but recently you indeed started showing all the signs for someone that is eating himself up by those very things.”

Stiles paced slowly and finally sat next to him, not wanting to be the one to look down at him, but at the same time made sure he was not given any comforting touch by his Father that he clearly did not deserve.

“Like I told you back then, pain is something that is hard to keep in, and you had the worst luck to express it both through anxiety and anger. But that’s not to say you’ve done bad. You’ve dealt with it for this long without having any kind of attack, and Isaac is a poor guy who was at the wrong time and the wrong place. It was just natural it will come out at some point, if it’s messed with enough. I’ve been told so when you were released.”

Stiles huffed wryly. “Is that what you tell all those who abuse their partners?”

The Sheriff caught Stiles’ face between his palms, and directed it to his. Stiles tried to resist, but the Sheriff already held his eyes by his firm look.

“You are not like them, Son. I’ve seen so many examples of dregs of society during my career, and I know that no matter how many illegal, simply idiotic things you’ll keep doing, it will not be like this. As long as you’re aware when you’re being a real danger to the public, and do your best to get away, I will never blame you.”

Stiles knew his Father was not necessary talking about the federal law, but humane morals. It still did not help him feel better about himself, knowing it might be different if the Sheriff was there to witness it in his own eyes.

This time, his Father let him when Stiles tried to turn his face away, looking elsewhere as silent tears ran down his cheeks.

“I only expect you to apologize to him,” the Sheriff said in a composed, unjudging tone, “whether he’ll accept it or not. But as someone who lost a parent not a long time ago- chances are he’ll at least get where it came from, even if it’s going to take some time until he stops to hold a grudge against you.”

Stiles was glad those were the words he went with, instead of empty promises about how everything was going to be okay- but he was still irritated by his Father ignoring just how much of a burden he had been to his life, without even being his real son.

He had to remind him that through the other subject they started to discuss.

“It didn’t happen before you were married, did it?” Stiles asked in almost a murmur. “I was given the impression that the other man was someone she knew for a short while, and then left her once she got pregnant, just before you came into play. But it wasn’t like that, was it?”

The Sheriff took in a deep breath, in the same way he had shown Stiles to do to stabilize the body before shooting a bullet.

Stiles knew that whatever had happened, it had not gone nice and easy.

“We were married for some time, but wanted to wait with having children until I get promoted. There was a big investigation related to the underworld, and for weeks I barely was at home. It was just a few days before I came back when he came over.”

“When did she tell you?”

“Even though I had not seen her for so long, she talked to me like I had just visited her a few days prior. She insisted it was real and not a dream, but eventually I just got sick of talking about it. That was until sometime later, when we discovered she was pregnant. Once again, she denied every proof I’ve shown her that I couldn’t possibly be with her at the time, and I didn't know if she was out of her mind, or was that desperate to not leave her. Later on, we would be told by some kind of a fortune teller that it was a supernatural being who had worn my face, which I also found hard to believe.”

The awful feeling Stiles had had until that moment was finally gone. His Mother indeed had been loyal to a point where Zeus needed to be his Father in disguise to be with her.

“But what made you stay?” He asked, knowing it could not be that obvious to his Father.

“Every healthy-minded person would call me an idiot for that. As honest and straightforward as she has always been with me, it was just impossible to believe to that. But still,” he sighed, “no matter how disgusted I was with her doing, I couldn't just let her deal with a surprise pregnancy alone. I wanted to make sure she would save enough money for the both of you, planned to divorce her only after the maternity leave, where I would give her more time to find a place of her own.”

Stiles looked at him with an awe, pride filling his insides. He could not believe how much of a great man his Father was, making a whole new level of courtesy, as he had been so thoughtful even after being cheated. And his Mother had absolutely deserved a man like that, which made it even better.

Who knows where Stiles would have been that day, or if he would have been still alive, if his Father was even just a little less good-hearted.

A fondness was added to his sad expression. “When the time came- well, you knew her yourself. She had this... irresistible charm. Even long before she was proven to speak the truth, life away from her was impossible.” There was still a slight smile on his face when he sighed, even though it was gone completely from his eyes. “If only fate knew that too.”

Stiles felt the consuming feeling of grief, but tried to use it to not be too overwhelmed with emotions to keep the conversation going.

“What proved you that there was a supernatural involvement?” He asked with apathy, so-called indifferent. “Was it when I picked up that car?”

“No, that was when I understood the danger in it, but there was something that happened before that. Remember having a Boa when you were five? The one that got lost?”

Stiles frowned. “She didn’t get lost, one of the mice we bought for him was poisoned- ” He cut himself off as his gape grew bigger. “Wait a minute,” he continued after a short pause, voice full of shock. “You lied to me?! I remember having a funeral with her body in a box- you faked it too, didn’t you?”

His Father shrugged, his impression finally a little more positive with amusement, only Stiles was very close to not care about it at all. “You insisted, and we couldn’t refuse.”

Stiles buried his face in his palms. “I can’t believe you, Dad! I _mourned_ for him! I would have still feel bad if I knew he was lost, but at least I could tell myself he found other friends -- “

“ -- No, it was never lost.” The words made Stiles snap his head back up in surprise. “I just guessed that was what we’ve told you then. It did split into two snakes, though, found his way out of its aquarium and tried to kill you while you were asleep.”

Now that was quite unexpected.

“Huh,” was the only thing Stiles could say about it, feeling a little betrayed. Thinking about his beloved pet he had mourned all those years trying to kill him was a twist that was not less dramatic than finding about his biological Father's identity.

“I remember hearing weird noises from your room in the middle of the night,” the Sheriff started to recapture the moment, “and when I reached to you, I found you sitting on your bed in your sleep, holding two strangled snakes at both of your hands, shaking them around with such a pleased smile and delight prattling, like we finally brought to you a worthy game."

Stiles was too shocked of the fact that killing things was a part of him in such a young age, that he could not even care of what had made his beloved pet to turn on him like that.

It should not be, since he was a Demigod, but all those facts just did not settle with the way he had viewed himself. It still felt like they were talking about a stranger, that had a legitimate cause to be the way he was, and not naturally messed up with discreet anger issues.

“I was terribly amused, even agreed to be interviewed by the newspapers. But every time your Mother was asked about it, she got so pale. At first, I thought it was because some guilt issues, but then I saw how Deaton hesitated when he was checking the snakes' breed, and I understood that she was in fact scared, _terrified_ , as though it was more than just luck that you were able to kill those snakes. She never talked about it, but later on I understood that any hope she had for you to have a normal human life, without being be persecuted, was crushed.”

Stiles identified with that feeling, remembering how sad he had been for Scott once he understood his friend would not be the same ever again, and how it could only go down from there. It had not been an easy realization, and the frustration about the nothing he could do in order to help to take this away, was one of the worst feelings he had ever felt.

“And I think recently you came to realize it too,” his Father noted in a knowing tone.

Stiles just stared at him as he deliberated with himself whether he should swallow and admit defeat or swear on his life he had no idea what he was talking about.

His Father snorted smugly. “Did you really think I won’t notice my son getting into shape?” He patted what Stiles could now finally call his biceps. “You're still skinny, but that’s why it’s already showing. And you're much more tired at nights, too, like you suddenly spend time on more things than computer games. And then there’s your growing habit to happen to be in almost any recent crime scene, like you and your friends started playing young caps.”

That was the part Stiles had prepared himself for more than anything, and in that moment, he made a decisive decision to not try to deny it or excuse it. He got to a point where he just could not push that idea aside anymore.

Be his strength a curse or not, he could not let himself the privilege of living an alternative life where it did not exist, and he had no excuse to impact on things he had no business with and no way to help.

The greatest superheroes he knew went through that same stage of repeated attempts to focus on their private lives, and make sure they were absolutely separated from their secret identity; as long as they were not smart enough to give up to for the strings that kept them pull them back, it never ended well. Stiles may not be a superhero, but he still could take a note from that.

“I know what you think about that, and you may not believe me, I don’t feel better about myself every time I get myself involved. But I _have_ to, Dad. There have been things happening in this town that put my friends at risk, and that’s why I wanted to help with your investigations more than ever. Most of them have more to them than you know, and I’m not talking about the human underworld. I wouldn’t have started training in self-defence otherwise. But I swear I don't try to play Batman -- I was decreed to be Robin anyway, powers or not -- so even if you ground me -- ”

“ -- Never said I'm gonna.”

Stiles gaped at him with disbelief. “You... You're serious?”

The look on his Father’s face showed he was far from pleased with it, but had no way to decline what Stiles had just said.

“As long as it is only about self-defence, and it’s beyond my abilities to assist- I can’t avoid you from contributing to your real skill, your gifted wit. And about this self-learning experience: You are at a point in your life where not knowing what you are and how to deal with yourself would potentially put you in more danger than not. The reason we originally asked you to stay away from sports was that you were a kid, and we couldn't let you get in trouble with something you can't control. Of course, You're not any better now, even though you've grown.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at him.

“But I know that, deep inside, you're not that much of an idiot, and Scott will keep an eye on you as well. I noticed he got better in lacrosse too, by the way. Is there anything I need to know about him?”

Stiles hesitated. “Well, he… We'll do this talk, Dad, I promise. Once we get out of this mess, and you won't get a wrong impression of anyone. I have a lot of mess to settle down right now, including myself.” After thinking about it he asked, “Wait, how much do you already know, exactly?”

“Only what I told you your Mother agreed to share with me. She let me assume whatever I want from the fact of you being a descendant of one of the Greek gods.”

“So nothing at all, basically,” Stiles summarized it, his tone fakely impressed as he mockingly praised him: “Nice detective skills, Dad.”

The Sheriff shrugged. “She never felt comfortable with it so I didn’t push, and for what I did try asking her for your safety she always agreed to offer just very foggy answers.”

Stiles hummed. “Well, we can’t blame her, then. I’d probably do the same thing.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” His Father looked up at the ceiling, like he was blaming the Deities he barely acknowledged their existence. “Finding the most annoying creative ways to answer a question. Out of all the traits you could have inherited from her, you chose this one.”

Stiles stared at him, unconvinced. “You married her, it couldn’t be _that_ bad that you can’t deal with it.”

“How exactly do you think I learned to take your smart aleck crap? I was well trained by the absolute _worst_ ,” his Father shook his head.

Stiles laughed; he did not remember a lot about this side of his Mother -- or maybe he just was not exposed enough to it -- but he could clearly recall she had been fonder of his wisecrack, sarcastic attitude than his Father. Now when he came to think about it, possibly even proud of it.

It had always been that way. While in films and television shows that Stiles had watched, the father was the one to turn a blind eye to the kids’ mischiefs, and sometimes angered their partner for not scolding at them when necessary- in their house, the fighter of the country’s law happened to be his Father, and the stereotypical roles were swapped. Not that he had never caught his Father snorting at the Dad-jokes-like sense of humour before, but Stiles still loved the unusualness that he had grown up with.

“By the way,” his Father shook him off his thoughts, capping one of his shoulders. “I didn’t become your legal guardian just because I wanted to do a favour to Claudia. You definitely take her in some huge steps when it comes to being full of crap, but you _are_ my son, as long as you take me as your Dad.”

Stiles was too overwhelmed to react at first. He spent the first minutes just taking in the half joking-half serious fondness on his Father’s face- yes, his _Father_ , because blood relation could screw itself. When it came to raising him, while being so done with him, yet worry and thinking about him like a real Father should do- The Sheriff had always won any other biological Father he had known, as the others seemed to only involved with the creation process of their children, and nothing more.

Yes, Sheriff Stilinski was definitely his only Father, and Stiles was ready to show his gratitude for him for it.

“Wow, Dad, that’s so romantic. Yes, of course I’ll say yes. I mean, I always imagined that happening over a take-out dinner on a Mets-game-night date, but a dramatic discovery of my real identity works too.”

“Come over here, you little ungrateful thing,” his Father groaned, pulling Stiles into a firm hug.

Stiles laughed into his shoulder, being proud of myself for being approved by his Father even after all the headache he made him go through every single day. He smelled in his Father’s scent, and let himself melt into the other’s lap for a while.

“And after both of us get some nice hours of sleep,” the Sheriff said after they broke the hug, “I'd really love to hear some more of your creative explanations, this time about the almost shattered window.” The Sheriff pointed with his head to where Stiles' bat hit the glass the night Derek gave it to him.

 _Shit_.

-

 _We’ll be in the building’s basement._ was written in the text Stiles received from Derek a few days later- the first kind of contact between them ever since the event at the veterinary’s parking lot.

Stiles licked his lips; if prior to that they could avoid each other for weeks like it was nothing, then now it felt like a forever had passed.

It was the fourth day without any outdoor training at all, too; even those he had used to do at home on his own, like sit-ups, had required awkward positions replacements. Coach Finstock -- after making sure no one would sue him for being the responsible for Stiles’ injury -- had been happy to hear about the week off he had gotten, though he also had made sure Stiles had enough elastic bandage at home, and that he knew how to use it.

Even though he had said that mainly to make sure the temporary vacation would be paid too, it still meant that even his greedy Coach cared about him more than his biological father.

As for the one who actually acted like a proper one, the Sheriff- the talk Stiles had had with him had given him an excuse to tell him about the injury. Stiles lied it was an actual stress fracture, and they had waited until Melissa had had time during her shift to accompany them. He had been given a leg splint, just as Deaton had expected, but Stiles had noticed his Father’s expression when Melissa had spoken to him about the costs.

It looked like Stiles could not avoid searching for a job any longer, once he was through with the Labours. Not only he did not know just how much longer he could afford to pay for the Jeep’s gas expense for all the travels he had to do now -- and if he would have enough allowance for when school would start -- but that -- putting all that he owned only to Derek aside -- defiantly lowered his chances to be able to complete all of the Labours even more, along with his physical condition.

That day, the swelling in his leg was almost completely gone, though he was not sure just how more helpful it made him be, especially at this kind of occasion:  the full moon that was about to rise that night.

As the boy who had used to carry an extra inhaler for his best friend, every single month Stiles would message Scott if there were any funny business to assist Deaton that night -- their secret code for the full moon -- just to be safe; so Stiles found it relieving that Derek finally found it obvious enough to not mention the reason behind his message.

What was less obvious, though, was the fact that Derek had asked for his help in the first place.

Stiles knew it was different this time. First, it was not like he could growl at them out of their shift like he had once done with Isaac, back when none of them had known any better- before their instincts had changed as they had learned there was something even stronger than their Alpha, or even their pack; then, there was what Derek had been told by Peter, about how the three lacked-of-moonbath Werewolves were going to be even more murderous than newly bitten Werewolves.

But was it really _that_ serious, that he trusted Stiles to not take the chance to almost kill one of his Betas again?

Fighting a savage Werewolf who ran on a moon-rage boost surely would not be the same as dealing with a sober one, but the fact he took the chance was still bizarre to Stiles, to the point where he did not even get angry with him for the way he asked for help, without really asking at all.

And if that was somehow not enough to question Derek’s clarity, then he also proved just how bad he thought Stiles’ condition to be when, about an hour before nightfall, a taxi honked right beside his house. While Stiles cursed Derek internally for overreacting for his fragility, as usual- it also made him wonder even more about Derek’s disproportionate fear. How was he going to be any kind of help like that?

...Unless he knew Stiles was going to lose.

Well, it was still better than being a snack to an actual monster. Stiles could not really find a reason to not come.

But as he was getting closer, suddenly Stiles had a realization that came to him so late that all he could was to slap his forehead. He knew for sure he could not be given any other rule beside being another pair of eyes to watch after them throughout the night, so why the hell would he need to get there so early, and not just at the last minute?

No, really- if even Scott had once gotten to the point of brag to Stiles over kissing his ten years old crush, then those Werewolves -- who were not even close to like Stiles as much as Scott -- could be even worse, considering that they were not only on the edge, but also knew Stiles’ real red line.

The taxi stopped by Derek’s building before he could have prevented the arrival, and he breathed deeply as he got out, rubbing his face over and over again, until a hair scrunchie was thrown at him.

“Ow!” Stiles pressed his palm into the hurt eye.

“Derek says _stop being an idiot and come inside_.”

With his undamaged eye, Stiles spotted Cora standing at the entry to the building in a typical Hale pose, no sign of internal exertion on her face.

Nothing could have proven better just how painfully early he was.

“But why _this_?” He picked up the scrunchie with his free hand.

“He said to throw at you something if I have to.”

“You threw it before I even had a chance to hesitate!”

She shrugged. “Whenever I get a chance, I have to.”

Nothing in her behaviour seemed to be different than the attitude she had had toward him before the night of his tantrum. Stiles was not sure whether she simply did not care for Isaac, or there were more instructions from Derek than what she had just told him.

“Be thankful that at the last moment I remembered that I could use it instead of my shoe,” she noted, as his face probably looked skeptical. “Now shut up and come inside.”

“No pity for those who aren’t human,” Stiles murmured as he slowly made his to the entrance door. He would have felt embarrassed, if he was not about to become mincemeat in less than an hour.

“You might be a crybaby, but you’re still stupid enough to decide to take a creature like that giant, multi-headed one on your own, so it has to mean something.”

As they advanced to the stairs leading to the basement, Cora kept her distance from Stiles, walking ahead of him- although it was clear she was walking much slower than usual to match his limp.

She did not show any sign to ponder over assisting him, but considering they were so close to the rise of the moon- Stiles shut up in order to not accidentally release any whine which would activate some predatory instincts. It just might be the main reason -- beyond her indifference -- for her not taking a look below his eyes, and letting her wild mind acknowledge Stiles’ similarity to a wounded animal.

At any rate, dealing with his difficulty by himself could be a nice challenge: to prove himself he could take any physical pain that life made him go through. Yeah, he would not break because of some stupid stairs.

Just as he started to make his way down the stairs, he spotted Peter coming from the opposite direction.

“Please tell me you’ll at least be back with some snacks,” Stiles called after him once he passed him.

“I’m not going out,” Peter responded with boredom. “My dear nephew decided I’ll be more useful by guarding outside and watch for anything suspicious.” He eyed Stiles as he passed by him “But from what I see, Cora brought enough for everyone involved.”

Stiles watched him walking away with an irritating twitching eye. “Well, that just makes you one awful main course.”

Surprisingly, as they continued in their slow way to the basement, Cora was the one to cut the silence from being stretched for long.

“It’s usually our sensitive human side that makes it much more difficult to hold ourselves back,” she started, “at least during any other time that isn’t a full moon night. Sometimes we invade others’ territory for the sake of power alone, sure, but more times than not when that power means money. We will growl and snap at each other for something as small as a fight over the TV remote, then an hour later you’d find us whine while licking each other’s wounds. It’s commonplace in a pack’s daily life.”

Stiles knew what she was trying to say, only his case was not a normative humane thing. It made him wish more than anything he would have been born a simple, well researched being as a Werewolf, just so he could have had a legitimate cause for that.

Stiles would never regret fighting for his Mother’s honour, but even though he did not remember his last consciousness moments from that night clearly- he knew Isaac had not really said anything disrespectful about her, and it took simply mentioning her to trigger Stiles’ rage.

Even if he could not remember what had gone through his mind, by the point Isaac had talked to him, he could clearly remember how he had worn he had been himself from acting patience to be able to talk logically. Having so many on his mind on top of that, he had surely been so uptight and boiled inside that he waited for any wrong word, no matter in which content, for letting himself burst it all out on someone. Giving himself a permission; a reason.

They all had been wrong, saying that training would teach him to better control himself. Sports was something that was said to ease stress, but Stiles was far more destructive than a normal person.

How could he ever judge Scott, even if he had people trying to talk him out of playing not much long after taking the bite?

“It wasn’t just an annoyed reaction,” Stiles dissented her. “I wanted to do more than just nipping his ear, or whatever you do to subdue someone. I meant to _finish_ him, right then and there.”

“Tonight, I’m gonna try to rip someone’s guts out just because I can,” Cora argued back, unconvinced. “So is he, if he didn’t learn how to tame himself already. Whether if what happened was because of your kind’s nature that makes you a hotheaded or not, no one really cares. At least there’s logic in your choice of targets.”

Stiles did not really want to be the one to argue whose problem was worse, but he could not ignore the fact she could account his life as something which is not as bad as a curse.

“Oh, right, it’s really nothing to have my life easier with that departure, while the entire Greek mythology is coming back to life from the books, just for me. How lucky can one be, oh do I wonder?”

“What I’m saying is, if you say a word to Isaac, I’ll kick you in the ass harder than you hit him.” She stopped at the bottom of a flight of stairs, and stared into his eyes, probably all the way to the back of his head. “Do you understand?”

Stiles swallowed. “I- I’m quite certain that you’re able to do that.”

“Good,” she replied with no contentment in either her tone or expression, and waited until Stiles made all the way to the last step of the stair flight as well, before she turned her back to him and continued leading them down.

“Wait, so is that your welcome-to-the-pack talk?” Stiles asked when they made it all the way down. “Like, I-still-want-to-taste-your-internal-organs-but-I-guess-we-can-get-along-in-the-meanwhile?”

He could hear her soft sigh, which meant she was rolling her eyes.

“Okay, so maybe we’re still far from that. But one day we’ll get there, you’ll see.”

Cora did not react this time, which Stiles saw as a positive sign. He quietly fist-pumped while they made a turn around a corner.

Only it was not a wall that they had passed- the room was more than a half full with a pile of random objects, which had probably been left there by past and present residents. It left a very narrow way to walk into the open part of the big, though cramped space, to finally meet the gathered Werewolves.

Some sitting and some standing, they were all quite under the fluorescent light. The columns that stood between them were all cobwebbed, and with the dust basically everywhere the air was thick.

Not that Stiles could complain, as the air was so full of tension and awkwardness, that it became even thicker, only by another meaning.

He wondered just how much his heartbeat was loud to the rest of the presents, who all had their eyes on him, and got even more uncomfortable by imagining it. Even though Cora told all those things to him while letting the others hearing all of them, it did not mean her thoughts were similar to the others.

Stiles purposely did not make an eye contact with Isaac, who he could feel testing him thoroughly enough that it felt like there was not possible to really get away from his stare. It felt like he was waiting, though, more hesitating to challenge Stiles than before. Stiles wished the reason was that Cora’s threat was not only directed at him, and not only because of that type of fear that Stiles was scared from causing anyone to feel by his presence.

From the corner of his eyes, Stiles did not notice any harm that was done to his body – being so deeply amok that night, he could have just as easily gouged his eyes out without remembering that -- though it did not mean his self-healing had treated the damage as fast as usual.

In an attempt to not return a look to Isaac, Stiles’ eyes found themselves resting on Derek’s, whose tough scowl was well-kept and stable for someone that every single person in the room brought problems that were urgent to deal with, even with the Alphas around, and that while most of them were his own Betas. Not to mention that those problems mainly included trust issues, that was relevant than ever at that time of the month.

He had so much more troubles than Stiles, and yet he kept going. The least he could do was to somehow stick everyone around the goal -- surviving the night -- even if it was by putting himself in the centre of the attention of the soon-to-turn-savage-Werewolves, like he knew to do best.

“Whatever I need to help with, it better not takes long,” Stiles stated. “I don’t have lungs as durable as my strength, and certainly not a respiratory system as impressive as that of Werewolves. Not that I can understand how this place wouldn’t make Scott return to his asthma days, and believe me when I say those days were not less scary. No Alpha Pack, sure, but even the littlest flower, those sinful things, in the hand of the wrong guys could -- “

As absurd as it was, he was the one to cut off himself, as he noticed that Derek’s eyes had fixed themselves on another point in the room for a longer time than necessary. He was not one to not be able to stare back at Stiles to begin with.

Stiles followed his gaze and found a familiar black box in the corner. Black and red wires went out of it, and were wrapped by their ends around large, metal handcuffs.

Stiles moved his head quickly between the power supply and Derek. He did not know just how much Derek knew about what happened to Erica and Boyd in the Argents’ basement, but there was no way they acted that much indifferently when he had presented the wires to them.

Not when the wires were so _similar_.

Stiles slowly, repeatedly shook his head. “Wait, no way, you can’t -- ”

“-- It was Boyd’s idea.”

It was better to know it was not Derek to decide to that solution himself, but not enough to make it less _wrong_.

Boyd and Erica were sitting together on the floor. Even though it was Erica who was stroked by him, the boy did not look that much happy about it either, even while wearing his usually stoic face.

“Chris had a nice little garage sale just before he left,” Derek told him, “but it looks like he saved everything he could not sell at the dungeon under my old house, where they kept me the day I was captured. This time it’s going to be used for a good reason.”

Reliving their trauma, when they still have Deucalion out there – ready to act at any moment -- to worry about, was a deadly move.

Stiles shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“The moon will make them angrier, and therefore more aggressive,” Derek agreed, though he clearly forced himself to stay patient, “but not necessary being able to resist higher level of currents. It was Boyd’s idea.”

“No, but trauma will.” Stiles could not look at the pair without the images of the two that night by the hands of Gerard jumping to his mind, so he only stared at an area next to them so they would know he was talking to them. “I appreciate your bravery, but it’s gonna take far more power than that you’ve experienced to stop you. All the point is that you won’t be here to struggle through it, and your body will most likely decide to give in for your own sake.” Stiles rubbed with the spot on his face that was cut at the very same discussed event. “Especially when it will recognize the tools, and the previous owners of them.”

Only said person was not really Chris, but Gerard.

It was not that selfish to worry about it, considering the cause, and yet he knew he should not think about things that were only related to himself when he once again began to worry that they were still testing him, even now.

The coincidence was too insane, and being followed only made him more suspicious. Could they know?

“Stop panicking, Stilinski. It stinks in here as it is.” If someone could vocally roll their eyes, then it would be Cora.

“You can always just stop smelling my feelings,” Stiles resented, even though it was a calming sign. He had not been brought here for what he feared for a moment for, after all.

Most chances were, at least.

He mentally shook himself out of the thought which had started running in his head, and refocused his gaze at Derek. “Is this really the most effective solution you can arrange? There’s gotta be something that your family used to help the Were kids to deal with the forced shifting. I mean, even if it’s a method for younger Werewolves -- ”

Derek cut him off by shaking his head. “Born Werewolves shift for the first time during their puberty. There is a piece that used to pass in my family for centuries, which was used to guide them. It’s hidden in a place that contains too many objects of powerful knowledge - there are many out there who would like to be led into it. It’s a risk even without the Alpha Pack wandering around.”

Stiles wanted to argue with him about that, but then Derek’s eyes then trailed aside, to where Erica and Boyd were sitting, looking at their Alpha with worried yet hopeful eyes.

If this was a test, then Stiles was not the examinee, but Derek. It was his biggest chance to show the others the safe, stable place he could provide them in his new pack, using the fragile trust they had regained for him after the successful rescue.

But it did not go well so far, as with the way Derek faced his Betas, he seemed almost smaller in size. His eyes were shockingly apologetic, in a way Stiles could barely grasp, and his shoulders were more tensed than ever- this time, instead of holding himself from bursting out, it looked like it was a struggle to not let them crumble down. He stood there with no sure answers to give, and for that having no choice but to go with a troublesome idea, as he could not come with another, better plan.

Stiles hated to see him that way; Derek had never openly shown his hopelessness like that, not even during certain death situations, like when they had fought the Gigante. The fact he currently felt more out of options than he had been during a battle, to the point he saw no reason to keep a stubborn deal-with-it face on, made Stiles realize that Derek felt more than a simple inconvenience: he felt _embarrassed_.

Stiles could only imagine what their anxiety felt like to Derek, as their Alpha who could sense it more sharply than anyone else; the humiliation after his false act of the strong Alpha he had promised them he was, who had all the answers they needed as he was born into this reality, was proven once again to be a false secure sense which he had sold them.

But why pushing at it even more by bringing Stiles there, and not Scott, for instance? Even after what he had done to him, how could he still convince the pack to trust Stiles’ presence?

As though to answer Stiles’ wonders, when Derek returned his gaze to him, there was no remain for the previous moment of letting the walls down, and his arms shielded his chest. It was one thing to let Stiles witness his vulnerary, for the uncountable time, but he would only get to that point if he was as desperate to one of Stiles’ abilities as he had been during those times. If he could count on Stiles, then it was to at least manage to succeed in what he was skilled at, when giving it a try.

“The only alternative we have is to not only find anchors, but what could evoke the memory of it. That’s why I called someone who had already done it before.” Derek raised his eyebrows pointily at him.

The reason why Derek had seemed to side with him more than usual recently -- ignoring Cora’s predicts on the additional troubles he would bring them, and even letting the secret of the mediator’s identity to slide, even though it could be critical to know -- finally dawned on Stiles: he had tried to get the pack comfortable enough with Stiles for that very moment; even when they had suspected him and wanted to keep an eye on him- Derek had let Stiles hanging out with his pack, when they could have just pretended to do research on the Alpha Pack.

Suddenly it all made sense to Stiles, and as much as it hurt a little to know that Derek did not believe in him as much as he _needed_ him, there could not possibly be another reason for Derek to act like that. All along he had been holding to his last hope, both for strategizing against the Alphas, and to reunite his pack.

Even though it might mean that Stiles’ place in their company had always been predetermined- Stiles was going to help, anyway- even while, of course, he was not as sure at Derek that all that work had not been in vain, by that point.

He raised his eyebrows as well, pointing at himself. “Who, me? My experience and common-sense matter at last? _Neat_. It’s just, you know, could be even greater if you acknowledged my qualities a little earlier, instead of putting them for the ultimate test forty-five minutes before sunset.”

Derek’s lips were pursed, like he did not want to go through the painful process of having to mention the obvious, and that was where Stiles understood it: the incident with Isaac had put everything on hold.

 _Right_.

Stiles’ eyes widen, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times until he only released a soft sigh and awkwardly scratched his face, realizing that no kind of comment could be appropriated- whether he joked about it or scolded himself.

Stiles had been so used to think that he was called at the last minute because of lack of simple thinking process, instead of legitimate reasons- that he actually let himself forgetting that one.

“Ask them whatever you need to know,” Derek instructed, after Stiles’ expression made it clear that there was no need for vocal explanation. “Anything you find essential to be known to make it work.”

But who should he start with? All the three Betas looked like they had more or less the same opinion about him since one of them had been brutally, unjustifiably attacked.

Although there was Cora, who also had not been exposed to the full moon, although she was supposed to have more experience with controlling her anchor.

Stiles turned around to her. “You’re all good, right?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about this kind of situations, but if Peter tried to offer me earlier today a way of his own to deal with it, which he developed as a veteran Werewolf who also lost control with the right amount of trauma- it’s safe to assume that my body is as vulnerable as it was during my first shift. I feel like I might lose it even before the moon will be at the peak of the sky, and the building will stop protecting us.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, thank you for admitting that only now, but still not asking to get handcuffed already, just in case.”

It did not seem to make her rethink her decisions. “Even on my better days, I’m as close to getting my claws on you as I am now. I’ll inform you when the need gets stronger inordinately. Until then, it should not make any difference for you to deal with me like that.”

Stiles nodded sarcastically. “Well, thanks for that. But you can’t get pissed at me just because I’m trying to decide who should be the first to start with, right? Just some sense of self-responsibility, we’re all old enough to have some. I hope. So, what do you say, kid, do you think like you can keep it for a bit longer?”

She growled at the kindergarten teacher-like question, but did not make any move.

Stiles took the self-control as a positive sign, and turned to look at the other Betas.

His eyes were drawn to Erica first. It was the first time since Stiles had arrived that he actually took a concentrated look at her, and suddenly noticed just how sick she looked; she did not sweat or was pale, but she shivered and panted, seemingly from the intensity of not giving in to the logical side of her mind as it was growing weaker.

It was like the process of growing into herself had decreased at once, as though she was going back to the days she had her epilepsy to worry about: her eyes kept wondering, trying to find the best, safest point in the room to focus on, that would most likely not trigger anything in her, of any kind. After days of being avoiding making any contact with the world or have one of his senses catching something wrong, it was easy to recognize the fear on her face.

To think he had been missing out on such a wonderful being, all because he had not been ready to add to his life yet another person with a disorder that could get them into a critical condition once the seizure occurred in the wrong place. Even though, over the time, Scott was the childhood friend Stiles was the closest the most to- as long as he could avoid getting emotionally attached and commitment to someone who could have brought him more reasons to stress out, he preferred to stay away.

Not that he regretted getting to that point, where it was too late for him to back up. As soon as something between them clicked, he could not see anything past his concern toward her, and so it was natural for him to reach out for her first.

Stiles kneeled down in front of Erica, wincing from his injured leg, even though he put most of his weight on the other one. He insisted to remain on that position, though, as he heard it helped to stimulate a positive psychological effect, or something.

He cleared his throat. “So, it might sound stupid, but- as a child, what did you do to calm yourself down? Or comfort yourself when you cried?”

She slowly turned her head just slightly from Boyd’s arm, on which she had laid her head on, though her eyes kept escaping from staying on Stiles’ for more than a couple of seconds at a time.

“Yeah, I know how much kitschy it may sound, but we can’t help it, we have to get as low as possible to find the most effective thing for you. So, was it a song, or a doll maybe?”

“A children song will not help her stop thinking about tearing people’s flesh out,” Cora commented dryly.

Stiles sighed heavily, not even caring if it looked like he was pouting. “And that attitude is exactly why Derek called me. For you, it’s about self-submission and old family traditions, but as you said, they don’t cover you for any kind of situation. That’s when you try using science in a positive way, instead of- ” he waved at the power supply’s general direction. “The more someone is at ease, the more the heartbeats drop, the more in control the person gets. I’ve proved that once, and now I’m about to do it again.”

Part of the reason he said that was to pump up his own confidence too, of course. Even if there was a chance he could help anyone of them, he could not do that by doubting himself as much as he did.

Even if he was destined to let them down many times more in the future, he was determined to do whatever he could to not make that moment of those times.

Stiles turned back to Erica, putting the best sure face he could fake. “So, back to you. Any character you like, from past or present? Comics, films, TV shows- a Disney princess you were into? I picture you rooting for Jane, for some reason.”

Erica rose her eyebrows playfully. “Oh, I see.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open.

The last thing he had expected was someone pulling off a cartoon film reference while in that kind of state, and yet, there was Erica- amazing enough to do just so.

It was a magical moment for him: stars figuratively shined on him all the way through the concrete walls, he could only see bishie sparkle for a few moments and a gospel choir in the background was praising the holiness that was before of him.

“If you don’t agree to show me just how much more references you’re able to complete after that, I’ll probably turn into Clayton and go on a rampage out of despair,” Stiles said, not even a little ashamed for his heart eyes and goofy smile.

“I don’t think you’ll need his guns, though.”

And then all the pureness of the moment was gone in an instant. Stiles blinked back at the real, fluorescent lighten reality, trying to adapt the best he could to crushing right into the elephant in the room.

Stiles swallowed nervously, closing his eyes as he felt the voice piercing right through his back. From the tone of it, the source of the voice was very aggressively not ready to forgive, even if justifiably so, and it included not to stay quiet crossing a red line like Stiles admiring one of his fellow packmates.

“I get it, Isaac, I do, and I can’t blame you for doing this, but I _really_ have to be focused right now.”

“Oh, right. We saw what the lack of focus does to you.”

“Isaac, shut up,” Derek interfered, making one step towards him. “I’ve told you- he’s here to help, just like you are. Either you cut it out, or you’ll stay here to deal with them yourself.”

It relieved Stiles a little, to know for sure that Isaac had no problems at all with controlling the shift, and so did not require his assistance. From what he had seen from Derek, he just might have been crazy enough to still make them give it a try.

“Are you sure I’m the right man for this? I mean, let them say one specific remark to him and -- ”

Derek’s warning growl was kept inside his chest, although it sounded like it was just barely held inside.

Stiles did not see Isaac’s reaction, but Stiles’ conscience made it hard for him to continue on normally, from the point he stopped at.

The loss of trust was bluntly clear, and that was the only reason Stiles could realize that there had been a progress in Isaac’s faith in him to begin with. Isaac had not let him know about that until the very moment Stiles would have either lose or earn all of it.

The closest Stiles had ever known someone with trust issue of that degree was Derek, but it had helped him learn that there was more than one type. With people like Derek, for example, it was much easier to notice when they finally began to let you close, and gave another chance to hope and optimism in general. Even if Derek mostly needed Stiles around for a certain reason, he would not let Stiles to be even a second longer aside his Betas if he had the slightest doubt that Stiles had any will to hurt them. As long as it was not with evil intent, he could live with harming outcomes.

People like Isaac, though, would not settle for this, and for that would rarely be caught unprepared. They surely had their own signs in behaviour, invisible to those who did not know them well enough, to when they started to be less and less careful around new people. They were not necessary on full on guard for a longer time than the other type, but had much harder time to learn to ignore the sense of doubt.

Stiles would not be surprised if those people tended to avoid second chances almost every time, too.

The distance between them, both visibly and metaphorically, was certainly not healthy for a long term of teamwork with enemies around them. Nonetheless, as long as Isaac depended on his Alpha, Stiles knew they both had the same principles, and would not do something out of line as long as they needed to work together.

“You saved me once,” Erica suddenly said, “when Jackson attacked in the library, remember? Like Batman.”

Stiles smiled at her proudly. “That’s my Catwoman.”

“That was the first time I have ever been conscious during a seizure. I was aware what was happening, but couldn’t control it. The electrical impulses wouldn’t stop coming. It was even harder than my first full moon. But the feeling afterwards is very similar, I think. The relief after someone holding you; holding you down.”

Her eyes turned thoughtful, and Stiles patiently waited until she decoded whatever she was considering.

“I think this is it,” she lightly nodded. “I found it.”

Stiles nodded to himself as well, smiling with satisfaction.

“Alright, we might actually be able to do this!” He patted his own thigh in victory, and looked over at Derek, who seemed a little less tensed despite his scowl.

Sometimes proving to people that they were right to rely on him was just as good of a feeling as impressing the doubtful ones.

“So, next.” He now faced Boyd, smiling brightly at him. “Yo.”

“I agreed to this because it was Derek’s condition to my plan,” Boyd said, keeping his face clean from any friendly sign. “But it doesn’t mean you can treat it like we’re actually close.”

Stiles was surprised by Boyd calling it _condition_ , as though they argued about it that much, but ignore it in favour of groaning about Boyd’s other comment.

“It doesn’t, but come on, just cheer up a bit!”

Boyd blinked slowly as he stared back at him with reproof.

“Oh, no cheering up under the full moon. Right.”

“Back _there_ , you’ve always talked about how much you were missing the moon, even when it kept you in pain,” Erica mentioned to Boyd. “Maybe you should think about something that will distract you rather than comfort you.”

Stiles frowned. “But the point is that you’ll use the source of comfort _as_ a distraction.”

“The moon is an inherent part in us,” Derek explained, coming to stand closer to them. “It is a source of comfort by itself. It’s all designed to break us more easily in order to answer the moon's call of slaughter. To overcome it, he must have a stronger need than his wolf.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Well, great job at that, genius. You’ve known that, and then went and searched precisely for kids who were able to beat other, in every sense of it, _was_ their stronger need.”

Derek shook his head. “That sense of acceptance and power was what they wanted because of peer pressure, but it’s not as percolated as their real problems, as difficult as it is to realize it at first. That’s why it took me a few years to find that anger was mine.”

“Really?” Stiles smirked. “Aw, so you really are thankful for me. I should have known that you’ll never fulfil your threats, because you _do_ need me to survive.”

Derek’s expression was something between irritation and dissatisfaction, and perhaps something else, too, that Stiles did not have enough time to understand what it was as Boyd suddenly brought their attention back to him.

“I know what’s mine too,” he told them, and his grip on Erica loosened just a bit.

Stiles fisted pumped as he stood up -- to give the two Betas some space to get emotionally prepared, but also because his leg could not take it anymore – and turned on the heel of his uninjured leg to Cora’s direction.

“So that only leaves us with -- ”

“ -- If the method I’ve used since my first controlled full moon doesn’t work, then nothing will,” she declared with an indisputable tone.

“Cora -- ” Derek started.

“ -- I listened to him, and I gave him a chance to show what new points of view he has to offer, just like you asked us to.” She folded her arms. “But the teddy bear I used to have when I was a kid would not even be noticed by me when I try to tear apart the one holding it. Nostalgia isn’t gonna work with me.”

Stiles snorted. “I’m supposed to be offended right now, but you got me with little Cora and her teddy bear cuteness.” He ignored her not-so-cute glare as he continued. “But seriously, I’m not doing this just to prove a point, I’m doing this to get out from here alive, okay? So please promise me you’ll at least try to keep that toy in your thoughts.”

“Anything innocent in my life that hasn’t burnt along with my house during the fire is not strong enough to calm me back to my senses. Your friend is lucky to be fool enough to be that lost in love, too, because I know much better than you what I’m supposed to think when I’m through this, and I’ve never heard of Werewolves using stuff so ridiculous as their anchors.”

There was not a shadow of a doubt in her eyes, and something ugly in Stiles wished that he would be able to prove her wrong later that night. It was not her fault that she had gone through something that left that big of a scar in her, but she should stop lying to herself that Werewolves had no sentimentality. She could not claim that born Werewolves have a different mentality which was based only on primal instincts, either, after Derek had had enough experience with panic attacks to help Stiles with his own.

“Remember you don’t have a lot of time before it starts and you’ll get handcuffed,” Derek cut off the brief silence, exchanging looks with all the addressees. “If there’s anything you need to do beforehand, now’s your chance.”

Stiles turned to him sharply, flailing his arms with shock. “Whoa, hey, they all have just said they’ve picked their methods!”

“We can’t know if anything’s gonna work before the time comes.”

“Well, sure, handcuff them. But you’ll disconnect the power, right? Wasn’t all of this so we avoid using this?”

“I hope we won’t need it, but for now this has to stay as plan B. We can’t allow them to try to train on this any other way. They’re more sensitive than ever, so in any case we’ll have to keep watching them for the rest of the night. It’s for their safety as much as it is for ours.”

Stiles groaned, running a hand through his hair. He knew he had not done all this work for nothing, but he could not imagine not being able to save Erica and Boyd from going through that experience once again.

“We’ll be fine,” Erica assured him with a small smile.

Stiles smiled back and nodded, even if mostly for her sake.

“Well, at least it can wait until midnight anyway.” He leaped his way to one of the abandoned tables that were scattered in the room, and sat on it. “So,” he rubbed his hands, “who’s down for scattergories?”

“Say one more word, and you won’t live until then,” Cora growled at him. Literally.

Stiles had made a decision to stuck his mouth way inside his throat then, along with another pair of organs which decided to hide itself as well.

Stiles spent the rest of the time staring at the varied forgotten objects in the room, trying to tell himself each of their stories. From time to time he tried to pick up a topic to talk about, but was quickly growled back to silence.

Sometime later, the three previously kidnapped teens all sat together on the ground with somewhat distance between them- as much as the length of the wires made possible. As Boyd did not have to stretch his arm that much in order to squeeze Erica’s hand one last time before he had to be handcuffed, they were clearly not optimistically far enough from each other.

Then, as the last check, Derek turned on the electric current with a promise that it would keep it low enough- just to know at which level they would begin to be bothered by it. It did not take long, but the effect had remained even the currents had stopped streaming: Cora’s scowl had hardened, Boyd’s breath was faster than usual, and Erica was desperately struggling through her handcuffs with a piece of hair that tickled her face.

Stiles got closer to her and tucked the hair behind the ear for her, sending her a smile- while she returned a small, shaky one of her own.

Stiles hated seeing her that way, especially after witnessing her awesome, world-wracking self. Of course, even in a sensitive situation as this, she was as powerful as one could get, after years where her fighting spirit had epilepsy in its way; Stiles knew it had never given up, no matter how many time it had been put down. He had not entirely ruined their blooming friendship, but he knew that successfully helping her get through this would lead him to spend enough time with her to express his high esteem for her, as he wanted so much to.

He winked instead at Boyd. “If you feel like you need some good nose-scratch, don’t be embarrassed to ask!”

He waited a few seconds even as the impassive expression did not change, just for good measure, and moved back to the table he had sat on. This time, though, he had to lay down as his back begged for it, as hard as the surface he was on was.

-

Stiles woke up from a nightmare where the Alpha Pack ran after him, until he realized that the blood-shivering snarls were coming from outside of his dream.

The three chained Werewolves were already shifted, with their thirsty glowing eyes calling to the other attendees in the room to get closer, almost begging for it. Shining sparkles went left and right around the wires on their hands, adding an electrical hum to the already horrifying noises in the room.

Derek was with the power supply, and Stiles hated how relieved he was that he could not

“Focus, keep pushing it down,” Derek instructed next to the power supply, speaking slowly with continual words of guidance. “Remember what you talked with Stiles about, remember how it speaks to your very core. That feeling you’re experiencing is not going to ever vanish, but being a part in you doesn’t mean it’s really you. Accept it and you’ll be able to conquer it, to utilize it. Let it make you stronger, more powerful, instead of weaker. All the instincts that you feel are not the purpose of it, don’t let it be. Do it for your anchor. Keep it in your mind and don’t stop thinking about it for even a second.”

Isaac was crouching next to him, ready to back him up in case Derek would have to leave the device. Stiles was a little relieved that it had already been decided, and he had not been the one submitted to do the job.

After a while Erica lowered her head, and with a few long minutes of snarls and growls passing- there was finally a sound of entirely human gasping, clean of any supernatural expression.

Derek ceased his prolonged speech in favour of ducking before her, although he kept some distance and did not try to touch her.

Stiles was watching on breathlessly until Erica finally raised her head back, nodding quietly as her eyes were already flashed down back to their natural brown colour. Derek gently patted her shoulder before returning to talk encouraging words to the two left.

Stiles internally fist-pumped; he had actually done it, and he was even prouder by Erica being the first to fight it down, as she had been the one out of the three to have faith in Stiles’ idea the most.

But when he took a better look at her, noticing how sweat kept dropping to the floor from her face, his triumph smile faded at once.

He suddenly understood that not only she had to remain shackled, but she also could not rest her clearly tired body as she had to keep suffering the same level of electrical current as those who were still fighting to regain self-control. Instead of starting to test her with lower levels of volts, she had to tolerate the upcoming hours on her own, while completely conscious,  until the two lefts would catch up to her.

As she slowly grasped that fact herself, she closed her eyes, so Stiles could not send her a supporting look while refraining from disturbing Derek.

Even more time had passed, but not major change had occurred in the state of either Boyd or Cora. They were as loud as before but moved less, as though they tried to save some energy in case they would get lucky sometime later during the rest of the night. Derek had declaimed a speech with the very same words at least three times by that point, as no other way that he had tried to rephrase it had helped, although he had taken breaks between every repetition.

The closest between the two to reclaim control was Boyd, whose look at least seemed to sober up every once in a while, until he burst out and started to go wild moments later. It was as though his savage-self tried to fool Derek over and over again.

“What is your anchor? What did you choose?” Derek pressed him at some point.

It took a few more time until Boyd had enough awareness to answer.

“Guilt,” he gasped.

Derek froze in shock for a moment, then started walking around helplessly. “Why didn’t you tell me?! Guilt is a self-destructive emotion! You’re not distracting yourself from your urges, but from your battle against them altogether!” He finally came to a stop, standing still in front of Boyd, although his exasperation had not reduced the slightest. “Don’t think of your own role in those events, you have to concentrate only on your revenge, that you will not be able to accomplish unless you’re under control. Focus on your anger.”

“I don’t know enough to need revenge.” Boyd shook his head, eyes closed as hard as was possible. He then mumbled further, almost whining: “I have no idea what happened, where was she taken to.”

Stiles frowned in confusion, but then he forgot all about it with the shiver which ran all the way down through his spine, when Boyd opened his golden eyes, that in some sense had turned redder than before. Then, when he spoke further, his voice became as monstrous as Stiles once believed only film effects could make someone’s voice to turn to:

“I finally have the senses.”

All at once Boyd snapped; determined more than ever on getting away, he fought the handcuffs with all the energy he had saved until that point, violently shaking it everywhere and growling louder than Stiles had ever heard his voice.

“His Sister,” Erica suddenly said. “His younger Sister was kidnapped at the ice rink, while he was watching her, and then was found dead. He keeps working there in hope to locate those who took her.”

Derek shook his head, though more out of frustration. “He won’t stop his killing spree even if he miraculously finds them.”

Boyd kept fighting as though it was his only chance to find the responsible ones to his Sister’s death. He was going wild to the point he started to try tearing his bound hands off.

Derek quickly caught his hands, and Boyd growled at him, unbelievably louder than until that moment.

“Isaac, boost up the power, now!” Derek called.

Isaac reached out his hand towards the power controllers, but hesitated to touch them, fear clear on his face.

“No!” Erica cried out loud, “Please, Boyd, listen to me! Alicia wouldn’t want you to find out about her like that. You promised me you will visit her, that you will tell her what the moon feels like. You can still do it, you won’t remember to tell her about it all if you’re out of control!”

Boyd’s golden eyes stared right at her, and he kept breathing heavily through snarls.

A few moments had passed, and his breathing normalized to its natural sound. He lowered his head, so it was hard to see his expression.

Erica’s leg got closer to Boyd, along with her body which slowly gravitated towards him, and for a second Stiles thought Boyd would attack her once she was close enough. Derek stayed still, though, and so Stiles did not make any move himself, even if his logic screamed at him to stop it.

After a moment where no one made a move, Erica’s foot intertwined itself with Boyd’s, who leaned his body to her direction as well, like they would be able to reach each other eventually with the rest of their bodies if they tried hard enough.

Derek raised his head and sighed deeply, and Stiles joined along.

He sensed someone staring at him, but had to quickly look aside when he saw it was Isaac, whose face was unreadable.

Then Cora drew everyone’s attention to her as she released a feral growl. If anyone was still left with a doubt, then it took one look at her face to assure that she was too deep in her Werewolf world for anyone to consider to talk her out of it.

For the rest of the night, her hostility calls would echo through the room, along with random yet frequent noise of electric sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/168960781866/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-8)


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles opened his eyes the moment he realized that the blanket he had on was not his nor Scott’s, and that the surface he was lying on was unfamiliarly hard, too.

Although he had never seen it in that angle before, he recognized the table in front of him instantly; only last week, his laptop had spent almost every afternoon of the week on it, where Stiles had watched films with Derek’s pack. It even matched with the blue-greenish fabric of the sofa he was lying on.

He sneezed, then covered his mouth when he realized he was possibly not alone.

“I would have taken you home,” a voice out of the blue almost made his heart crash into his ribs, “but I couldn’t risk leaving Cora on her own.”

Hearing Derek’s voice should not be surprising, and still, it could only mean-

As Stiles slowly sat up, he noticed that the wool blanket was indeed unfamiliar, though the pillow was his.

How had he ended up bringing it to the Loft? Why would he even stay there?

“I’m not that incapacitated that I have to be manoeuvred all the time, you know?” Stiles rubbed his eyes. “Besides, if my Father ever hears about that, he _will_ get you into jail, exonerated or not.”

Derek finally showed himself, standing from the other side of the table. “You wouldn’t wake up and drooled nonstop. As the landlord, I had to make sure you wouldn’t flood the basement.”

Which was a wonderful thing to say to start the morning, or whatever time of the day it was. Probably late afternoon, with the warm light coming out from the large windows.

Stiles sent him a cynical smile, but then realized there was another thing bugging him in the mockery.

“You’re the _landlord_?”

Derek dismissively shook his head. “Save that for later. I heard you telling Deaton back then that you get a new task every Thursday. Is that correct?”

So it was almost Thursday’s eve, and yet there he was, almost ignoring that thought over much less urgent things, as usual.

He got up fast -- which his leg did not like at all, but Stiles was already used to the jolts of pain it sent whenever his mind was too busy to remember to be more careful -- and started stepping away from the couch, until he realized he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He tried to look for them, but was too dizzy out of panic to be able to find where they were.

“I have only a couple of hours to be there, fuck,” he mumbled, walking back and forth and in circles around himself. “What time is it?”

“Close to six p.m. I’ll get you back home, but not like that.”

Stiles groaned. “Isn’t it obvious that I’m looking for my shoes? What did you think I was doing, searching for my tail?”

Derek sighed. “Sit.”

Stiles finally stopped to look at him, astonished. “First you drag me into your house, while I’m not aware of anything to give you permission or consent, and you’re still feeling bold enough to order me around like a _dog_? Will you next ask me to roll over too or -- “

“ -- I said _sit_.”

Stiles startled, though only by the simple surprise of the irritated tone being heard out of the blue, and not by the empty threat behind his words. He narrowed his eyes at Derek’s persistence to have everything in his own terms, and only then returned to the sofa.

Usually the only place where Stiles would not question Derek’s commands was on the battlefield, but they had reached to a point where Derek had enough reasons to tear a piece of him even if it was not the day after the full moon, and he was _not_ about to look for more damaged, infunctional body parts.

And that was the _only_ reason he agreed to listen to Derek’s order, okay? Not because he wanted the guy to have things a little easier after what must have been a very emotional night for him. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.

Stiles rolled his eyes as Derek walked away to the door of the kitchen -- which was the most improvised one Stiles had ever seen -- as though he only checked on Stiles to quiet him down, so he could return to his more interesting business.

When Stiles noticed his pillow again, he asked, though not bothering with raising up his voice: “How did you get me my pillow?”

“By the end of the night you were too tired to stand straight, yet you kept whining you couldn’t sleep without it,” Derek answered him from behind the door, surprisingly remembering Stiles’ human level of hearing ability. “I asked Scott to pick it up on his way to his summer school, because both of us couldn’t take you back home.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “Scott was here?! But I thought you didn’t -- “

“ -- I still don’t want him to know anything.” Derek came back to the Loft’s open space with a glass of water in his hand. “I told him about the kidnappers, and that I asked you to help, since Boyd and Erica still haven’t learned to control their shift.”

Derek brought him the glass, which Stiles drank it empty too gratefully than what he wanted Derek to see. He could not really stop himself, though, after not drinking for close to twenty-four hours.

Stiles put the glass on the table. “How did you lie to him? We’re not even close to finishing the business with them.”

“I told him the truth- that at least one of them died, and the rest ran away. I’d know if he remained suspicious.” Derek shrugged, then picked up the glass before he walked again to the direction of the kitchen, hopefully to bring Stiles more much-needed water. “Will you have time to eat at home, or do you want to go to some coffee shop?”

Stiles was surprised by Derek’s sudden generosity, but then understood it might be because he looked that bad. “It’s not morning, and I’m awake enough, I don’t need- ”

His stomach very vocally claimed otherwise. The traitor.

Derek stopped so he could raise his brows at him. “Maybe not a coffee, but at least a dinner.” After considering it a little more, he added: “A _very_ large dinner.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and looked away in an attempt to hide his blush. “Thanks, but really, just get me home. And enough with this sarcastically kind behaviour. Just admit that you pity me, but feel like you owe me enough to help me.”

There was a short pause. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles’ gaze returned to Derek again, which had his eyebrows furrowed in honest confusion. Stiles could not believe he was seriously trying to play dumb.

“You keep paying on stuff for me, or offering to. It’s like the moment you noticed how my financial status is different than yours, you decided to take me as your little charity project. You wanted Coach to properly train me so I could help you with the rescue, I get it; and let’s say it’s passable too that you wanted me to have a better weapon to fight with. But volunteering to pay my bill to the hospital, and now taking me out to _eat_? Stop with all those ridiculous offers, man. It’s not the supernatural world, I don’t need someone with some kind of advantage to take care of me.”

Derek’s eyes darted between Stiles’, until he eventually nodded in agreement. There was a weird shade of downheartedness on his face, though it quickly changed into a scowl.

When he walked to the other side of the sofa to bring Stiles his shoes -- because _of course_ Stiles would search in the wrong direction -- but Stiles could not get irritated by that, as he was too bewildered by Derek’s reaction. Though he acknowledged Stiles’ discomfort that had caused that request, he did not seem too sorry about his acts. He would not have done any of that if he had not assumed Stiles was short in money, and yet it was not really the reason behind it all.

Derek took his car keys from the other, bigger table. “Don’t forget the pillow,” he reminded Stiles before went out of the Loft, leaving the door open behind him while Stiles was still lacing his shoes.

When Stiles stood up this time, he was more cautious. He knew that keeping forgetting about it, even after a week with the injury, meant the leg’s condition was getting better. Maybe Deaton was right, and he indeed healed faster now that he started to develop his body.

Once he got to the stairs, though, his smile went down at once, and he was glad that there was no one to make fun of him for it; as soon as he finally reached the entrance level, Stiles knew that if the next labour would be worse than that, he was doomed.

“You’re a landlord for nothing,” he gasped as he entered Derek’s car. “You can’t keep this building without a lift. It’s modern age, you know. Or you don’t know, actually. You buy expensive new cars, but besides that, you didn’t show any sign that you’re aware of what year we live at. I start thinking you’re not even at that time.”

Derek began driving away. “See, that’s why I wanted to buy you something to eat- so I could fill your mouth with something that will shut you up.”

Stiles gaped at him. “Do you feel okay? First suggesting to buy me food, then becoming civilized enough that you rather piss me off than threatening to get rid of some of my organs? I hope you at least have some savage left in you for fighting against the Alphas.”

Derek sighed. “I had to hear you talking the entire time you were asleep, I forgot you’re a much more of a headache once you’re awake.”

Stiles let out an explicitly fake laugh. That was something else Stiles still had a hard time believing- the fact he managed to make Derek bringing him his pillow instead of throwing him out of the window.

Now that he felt safer than not while being alone with Derek, Stiles had to admit he was enjoying himself through their bickering, in a way he did not remember he had had with someone before. Not that he had a lot of people for that part to his Father, who was more serious about his threats than joking most of the time.

Derek’s cooperation implied that he at least did not mind that, too, even if it meant for him to talk more- which made Stiles quite proud of himself.

“So where are the rest?” He asked after a while of silence.

“Erica and Boyd left about an hour ago. Isaac’s upstairs with Cora.”

When Stiles calculated it in his mind, he concluded that all the mattresses in the poorly furnished Loft had been occupied until very recently. “What about you? Did you get any sleep at all?”

Derek kept his mouth a thin line. “I was fine.”

Stiles snorted, not buying it, but as long as Derek did not show any sign of struggling with his focus- he did not want to press him to say more about it.

He looked back on the road, and thought about how Derek had not even tried to offer to bring him to the location of the meeting, which showed how much he respected Stiles’ need to get there by himself and keeping the place discreet, despite his pack’s suspicion.

It was like the moment he had understood how Stiles was serious about the fight, and not there just for the excitement of the adventure- he had let him win his faith, even to that degree, which was ridiculous.

“Why do you believe my intentions?” The question rolled out of his mouth before he knew it; gods-damned broken brain-to-mouth filter.

Derek stared at him for as long as he could before he had to look back at the road again. Then, at the first red light, he faced Stiles to finally answer.

“You panic by real, existential dangers, and anxious about things you care about. If you were extorted to hurt us, you would worry about the safety of the blackmail materials- your family and friends, or whatever else it could be. Ever since you were given those Labours, you only smell of fear and tension- like at any given moment you’ll have to fight us for the right to continue doing whatever they asked you to, and not like you’re worried we’ll directly ruin your plans.”

Stiles was irritated as always at the tale-telling chemical signals, but could not help being left impressed by how they could tell something about his anxieties.

The death of his Mother had been the beginning point to his anxieties, that he had known for a while. That had also been the time he had started having panic attacks, which was why he had never thought there could be a significant cause to them in different situations.

Years of being with self-consuming mentality health, he had examined himself too much that he was sure that even a therapist would not be able to get any further insights about him -- at least not life-changing ones -- but this was something he would have never think about by himself: that there was that big of a distinction between those two states, that could point to something about his personality that was food-for-thought worthy.

Only it had to take _attention_ to develop that kind of a feedback, and Derek had thought about it enough to the point he had managed to phrase it relatively easily.

Stiles turned his head to the window, not being able to resist the urge to lick his lips for some reason.

Maybe it should not surprise Stiles that much, not after Derek had exhibited something beyond compassion when he had helped him with his panic attack. And still, it was not that obvious for someone like Derek to be open to a seemingly positive impress he had of someone he had shown nothing but impatience up until recently. Everything he had just been told was facts, of course, but when Stiles read between the lines, he could notice something like an approval.

As approval was not something Stiles had gotten from others so easily, even from people much less moony and untouched like Derek, and it made Stiles annoyingly content. Unless he would be able to admit to Derek about Gerard by the end of his Labours, there was no positive thought of himself he could hold his head for too long.

When they arrived at his house, Stiles had to say one more thing before he would head out, though.

“They’re supposed to test my morality, if I _deserve_ to grant those I care about that peace of quiet.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to believe they’ll turn me on you, but I at least have a feeling they won’t try it that soon.”

Derek nodded. “Do whatever you need for now. When the time comes, we’ll find how to deal with it. Thank you for informing me.”

Before he would make things even more awkward, Stiles hummed in acknowledgement and quickly got out of the car, walking the rest of the way to his house as fast as his legs let him.

Too many things to wonder about; even if he did not miraculously get too distracted to drive to Gerard, he would surely not get a good night sleep at any scenario.

He set an alarm, just in case.

-

Just as the time before, Stiles received a text message which, once again, ordered him to not get into the retirement home’s building.

What was special this time, though, was that instead of being given an address, he was told that he would be taken by Gerard’s to the location of the Labour, due to the risk his Jeep’s _“outstanding look_ ” drew, and was ordered to keep his hunt -- a reindeer with golden antlers -- alive so he could take it to Gerard himself.

Whatever was important to Gerard about that species, Stiles had a feeling it was it did not necessarily have something to do with the fact he had being followed last time, but that he simply did not trust Stiles to deliver it all the way to Beacon Hills in a good shape, or without getting the creature stolen.

Stiles could only hope that the beast would not bring Gerard some advantage, and especially not a cure to the weird state he was at- but until he would have to worry about that, he could not be happier to get away from extra gas payments, which he had intended to talk with Gerard about during that meeting.

He was given twenty-four hours to get ready for a long journey in the woods, which almost seemed like the half-truth he had told Derek and his pack two weeks ago became real: he was actually going on a hunting trip, or something pretty close to one. Even if it was not an actual animal, bringing an alive, supernatural creature all the way to Gerard meant that it could not be the same case as the Lion -- or the _Mountain’s Lion_ , as Gerard had called it -- and so was not dangerous.

Counting on at least a couple of hours long drive to the place, he had spent the night on research on reports of reindeers in California: at least according to what the internet argues, there were none.

Well, so were lions and hydras.

After more hours of watching videos of hunting techniques, he spent the following day shopping and organizing a bag of equipment, with an attempt to make it a better one than the last time he had supposedly gone on a camping trip.

He sent a text to Derek, where he explained he would be out town for hopefully only a couple of days. Later, he found out he had fallen asleep on the sofa when he was woken up by heavy knocks on the door of an unexpected visitor- which turned out to be Finstock, who was carrying a couple of different weapons in his arms. He had a hard time giving them to Stiles, though, even though he came all the way just to bring those to him, and Stiles was just annoyed by Derek wisecrack way of aiding him. How could he feel thankful for that, when Derek might have preferred taking the whole town with him and his pack instead of having any kind of connection to Gerard?

After his Coach left, Stiles recalled that he should tell his Father about his further absence from home. To make sure no one else would accidentally read and know of something they should not, he wrote him a letter about the additional camping trip that “Scott” had asked him to take, which this time would take place in a safer place and easier to handle things at that last time, though they might spend there more time than the previous trip.

By the time he left the paper on the kitchen table, his ride showed up.

The silver SUV that had stopped at his driveway did not have an appearance as suspicious as a black vehicle had, but not that innocent that whoever had a reason to suspect it in the first place could be fool by it. Stiles rolled his eyes at it, though he surely intended to ask his escorts about it.

While one of them was taking his belongings to the car’s boot, the other one expectantly reached a hand to Stiles in a gesture that he only after a few moments he managed to correctly interpret as handing his phone. The guy took the battery out of it, put the parts in the plastic bag he was holding, and ignored Stiles’ loud protests as he opened the door for him, and aggressively so.

They did not exchange any word even between the two of them, and did not spare a look at him before they drove off.

What else could you expect from two guys who wore sunglasses after nightfall, and had a dark, soundproof barrier between the backseat and the front seat?

The drive took almost a whole day. He had a close surveillance whenever they had a bathroom stop, and had gas stations sandwiches being thrown to the backseat. He did not look to communicate with anyone anyway, and also did not need that to understand after a while that they were heading to Washington state.

He got his so-called freedom once they arrived at a point deep into a forest. He was then given a note, which explained again that starting from that very moment he had a week to find the reindeer, and to capture it alive, without hurting or damaging the creature.

First, Stiles searched for a strategic location place to use as his camp, which he had no time to find the last time he had been in the woods. On the ascent of a hill, he found a rock which was mostly covered by the foliage of a tree underneath. Then, after starting to travel throughout the woods, it did not take long before he first spotted the reindeer; it was so fast that his eyes could barely absorb its motion, though it never bothered to escape too far from its last stop- probably after years of getting used to hunters eventually giving in and leaving him be, alone in his own territory. After following it for two days, Stiles was able to draw in his mind a sketch that connected between main points in her route, after leaving a mark to himself whenever got to see a glimpse of the ornated reindeer.

Planning to catch it, though, was another thing. Gold was easy to notice in the woods, but when the said owner of the coloured antlers had such a dashing speed- it was not there to be seen for long. No matter how beautiful the reindeer looked, during those days Stiles grew to hate the noble beast almost at the same level he felt with Jackson.

Eventually, as even wandering around became difficult to do, he had to take a day break to let his injured leg rest. It passed slowly, and instead of planning his traps like he had planned to- it was depressive thoughts which, of course, occupied his mind.

He could not believe that the future of his hometown and dear ones seriously depended on his ability to catch a being with an impossible, unchaseable capability of speed, much more of their non-supernatural relative; Gerard seriously went of his mind this time for thinking there was even a point to make sure the transport there was discreet. Moreover, he was frustrated just by trying to get by in nature by himself, as some of his supply dined some other of the forest’s inhabitants, especially during the night, when he could not hide most of his supply inside his sleeping bag.

All he could hope for was that at least everything was well with Derek’s pack and that they did not make any critical move without him.

The next day, as he prepared to take a bow with him no matter how futile he already knew it would be, it was the only thing he could have any attempt at all with he heard a noise from the river below, just on the bottom of the hills.

Moving the tree’s branches just so, he could clearly see the reindeer bending over the water, body completely still, with his backside towards Stiles. He had no idea whether the creature knew Stiles was there and was playing a joke on him or not, but Stiles was not wasting a chance once he got one.

That could be his only moment.

After blindly digging in his backpack for the arrows, while maintaining his eyes on the incredible, shiny golden antlers all along, his hand bumped into something else, and suddenly he had an even better of an idea.

As he felt his blood being pumped with adrenaline, he recognized the feeling as the same one he had felt just before hitting the Gigante’s eye with the broken arrow; just before throwing a flaming arrow into the mouth of a monster launching itself towards him in a terrifying speed; just before Lydia called his name and he shot that goal during that lacrosse game; even just before he had tapped into his inner spark, whatever it was, and kept the handful of mountain ash to keep going, even when there had clearly not been enough left of it.

It was one of those moments when something in his essence was taking control over his natural, flailing self, with the talent that was hidden well deep inside of him. All he had to do was to listen to the voice inside of him -- and not be the one to believe in himself, like Deaton had once suggested, as it had only worked when somebody else had believed in him -- and this time, that voice was telling him to draw out the chain whip.

He had only trained with it once, during the first training days with Coach Finstock, where he had introduced him to different kinds of weapons. It was not a very long chain, which meant he had to get close, but it was this or nothing.

Eventually, he found the arrows, and took three of them. He for sure was not going to get any luckier than that, which only called for him to mess around with the crazy coincidence as much as he could.

He held the chain in his left hand while holding the bow’s limb, and crunched while ignoring his injured leg’s pain. Placing the three arrows all at once, he directed each of them slightly to a different direction: one to the other side of the river, just in front of the reindeer, and the two others to both sides of the creature.

After steadying himself, he closed his eyes, praying internally to the guidance of the voice inside him -- whoever was its source that time -- and released the arrows.

Without even looking if he had managed to hit as he had planned, he hit the ground with the hand which left the arrows as hard as he could so it would shake, and at the very same moment, he wielded the whip to his side.

The ground beneath him indeed shook almost enough to get him out of balance, but his eyes broke wide open with surprise as he actually fell the whip wrapping itself around something.

For a moment his heart stopped, as he feared it was a branch of a tree- but then he looked to his left to see that it caught none other but one of the extensions of the reindeer’s antlers, which had passed just by him, as planned.

Stiles was shaken out of his shock only when the reindeer made huge advances the more he was struggling with the chain, which was when Stiles jumped on him and knocked it out.

Then he fell back, leaning on his hands as he gasps with astonishment. Staring at his success -- finally being able to see more details of its, like the bronze hooves and the many shades of brown of its fur -- he could not help but to make shouts of joy.

He packed up his stuff, and dragged the reindeer down the hill with him- where he found all three of his arrows broken, seemingly after three other, unfamiliar arrows had cut right through them.

“Hey, how would a clueless boy like you dare to go after my Hind?!” Someone suddenly shouted at him.

To his side, there was a chariot carried by what looked like as the siblings of the reindeer, when the view of it was suddenly blocked.

Having a feeling the female being was not just some ordinary _someone_ , he gently took his hands off of the reindeer, raising his hands up protectively.

She was bigger than Stiles, though not that close to being as tall as Apollo- a bit less than two meters tall. She wore a cloak in addition to her chiton -- both with an unclear colour, that seemed to almost make her body transparent, as it kept changing according to the view behind her -- and carried a quiver. She wore a crown made of cypress leaves on top of her green hair. Her eyes had different shades of the forest, which were wild and sharp as those of the fiercest tiger.

Stiles swallowed. “With all these crypsis measures, I’ll have a guess you’re Artemis? But why -- ”

“ -- _I’m_ the one who should be asking _you_ questions here, not the contrary.” She put her hands on her hips, eyes searching in the so-called depth of his. “Before I kill you, I have to know why did you not realized you’re way beneath me to challenge me with my most sacred being? Even if you were paid to do the work for someone else, any decent person would decline. The nerve! I bet it is for some creepy reason like utilizing the poor little girl’s antlers.”

Unlike her Brother’s easygoing attitude, her words came too fast one after the other, to the point it was barely understandable, especially with her pitched-up, childlike tone.

Suddenly Stiles realized why was she that much shorter, comparing to Apollo.

Moreover, as he already got weary and irritated already by trying to follow her words, he figured that the feeling he was experiencing was quite close to those who were on the listening side to his rumbles, though he refused to believe he could be that annoying and confusing.

“Whoa, hey, what are you talking about?” Stiles waved his hands in front of himself, trying to draw her attention. “I was never told this reindeer was sacred to you -- ”

“ -- Don’t call her _this_! Ceryneia is a Hind, and is certainly not an object!” She corrected him, even more irritatingly.

He looked at the said Hind at his feet, then up at the enraged Deity of hunting standing almost right before his face.

Apparently, that was the greatest peak that his shitty life could achieve.

Then it hit him: that was Gerard’s real plan all along. Even if Stiles could have captured an impossible to hunt creature, the real test was to convince its protector that he had a good reason for it, and that he had enough of a good heart to not want to harm with no reason.

Try to win a battle without his angering wits- how was that even possible?

He felt how even the trees around him were laughing at him. How could he get into that trap so easily? Like he would actually get a Labour without a risk to his life in it.

He cleared his throat. “I- I apologize, um, to you and your _Hind_.”

Unimpressed does not even begin to describe the expression the pissed Deity had.

Stiles nervously looked at her quiver, then mentally hit himself for almost giving her a bad idea.

“No that I’m referring to her as a Hind as if she’s just like any unusual Hind. She’s undoubtedly a very special one, and I got to know her enough to know to treat her as a special one.” He nodded in the direction of her chariot, still trying to search for a way for a nice, distracting conversation. “So, with all the rest of your… pack of Hinds, do you happen to be the inspiration to the Santa fairytale, by the way?”

Artemis raised an eyebrow at him. “You do not realize, do you? Who Ceryneia exactly is?”

Stiles shook his head, awkwardly shrugging apologetically.

She took a step back just so she could more easily gesture at the other bored-looking chariot pullers. “It took me more than you would ever know to hunt down all of her siblings, even though they were released in a certain area especially for me.” Then she motioned at the one on the ground. “She was the only one to always get away from me. Eventually, as a gesture of honour, I swore to protect her through her entire life, which would be immortal as long as no one touches her. No matter how lucky you were to do so, she did not deserve to be taken by hands of someone who had no moral towards her.”

Now Stiles frowned at her. “What are you talking about? I shot arrows only around her on purpose, so I wouldn’t injure her!”

“Hold it right there!” The Deity startled Stiles with her sudden change of mood, and she crouched to gesture at the Hind’s antlers, so Stiles noticed for the first time some of them were cracked. “You are calling _that_ leaving her undamaged?! I don’t know what you did, but you clearly ruined one of the horns! You have barely any experience with hunting, how _dare_ you using such dangerous methods?!” She stood up again, bending to his eye level so her face was almost shoving his. “Ceryneia should not even be hunted by anyone, you Baby! Dalmatian! Dumb Doe-Eyed! Butter Fingers! Mule! Lame Face! Moldy Button Nose! Broken Cupid Bow!”

Stiles could not move out of shock, staring at the powerful, crazily skillful immortal shooting the most creative yet almost childish insults he had ever heard. It was like she was censored especially for a kids’ TV channel.

The Deity stopped after a while, and when she saw he had no response she pointed at him. “You disguise me.”

Then she walked backwards, a bow magically appearing in her hands out of the thin air. She took an arrow and pointed at him.

“Die.”

“Wait!” Stiles begged, putting his hands right before his face. “I still didn’t answer your first question!”

He closed his eyes, trying to pure his heart as much as possible with thoughts of those he cared about, those he had tried to do all of it for to begin with, even when he had not known if he would have to sell his soul to the devil or something similar in order to protect them. He let himself getting passionate about it, just as Artemis seemed to be about the Hind- if not more than her.

His Father. Scott, Lydia. The soon-to-return Allison. Danny. Derek’s pack.

And, yeah, after the recent weeks- Derek deserved to be mentioned on his own, too.

He took a big breath, and finally looked at her again.

“I was sent here by Gerard, who works with Hera. I made a deal with them that as long as I complete ten different Labours, they will stop terrorize my town. I’ve already taken down the Lion of Nemea and a Hydra. That Hi- sorry, _Ceryneia_ , was just another one- but not to kill! Just to capture, and bring her back alive and well. I failed that one, I know, but I _really_ have to show her to Gerard. Even if he has bad means with her, he can’t do anything if I don’t let him touch her. He only asked to see her, after all. Please, I’ll do whatever it takes if you only let me take her back with me, so I have a chance to bring some peace to my friends after being cursed to be Zeus’ son. You must know what that’s like, too, right?”

Artemis searched his eyes, until she lowered her bow, to Stiles’ very vocally relief.

“I accept the explanation,” she said, although she did not look very happy about it, “more so because I believe Ceryneia was the one to see your good will first and was ready to let you prove yourself. You did not use your given strength or aggressive instincts, but your wise and lionhearted spirit, being driven by non-greedy will.”

She ducked down again, gently stroking the unconscious creature’s skin.

“Swear on those loved ones that you will set her free again, as soon as the one who sent you gets his wish.”

Stiles sighed. “Oh my gods, yes- I mean,” he slapped his forehead, “I agree, yes, I swear to do as you said.”

She stood up, turning her back to him while humming a “hmph” sound.

“Whatever. Men are the _worse_. Eileithyia has done her job as crappy as usual, that is for certain.”

-

“Well, you can stay standing there with your Men-In-Black cosplay all you want- but you both know you can’t force me to do anything, and neither does he after he gave me specific instructions. I bet you heard me well enough that it’s quite embarrassing I have to ask you this again: bring Gerard out. _Now_.”

Stiles was sitting in the vehicle's boot, hugging the unconscious reindeer that partly laid on his lap, and stared expectantly at the two escorts who had just parked somewhere near Gerard’s crossing home, with one of them holding a cage’s door open.

Stiles was determined on his decision to set the Hind free as soon as Gerard saw her, because he really did not ask for anything more than this. As the delay in the submission of the Labour would be on Gerard’s, Stiles did not mind waiting there for even more hours. In fact, his injured leg condition had worsened ever since he had been left on that forest, and he was glad for any extra resting time he could get before he would have to start run at it with the creature -- who just refused to wake up, no matter how almost two days had passed since he had caught her – carried on his shoulders.

Both men who were standing in front of him took a step back and whispered each other, until one of them finally took off to the crossing home, while the other one closed the boot’s doors.

Stiles looked down on the Hind; it went faster than he had hoped, and none of the secret hits he tried to sneak on the beast had worked- it was still fast asleep, and he was not sure if she could even run straight after being out for so long.

Was it on purpose? Had he just added to himself yet another Deity he had to prove himself to? How could he even do that, when he was not even sure of his leg was ready yet to even stand his own weight alone while running at it.

Long minutes with an empty mind for new solutions passed, until footsteps were coming closer to his direction, and soon after the door was opened.

Surrounded by even more men in suits -- as this was the way the old man supposedly liked it -- Gerard was watching him from his wheelchair, the infamous crooked, cold smile on his face.

Stiles held the creature tighter, tapping on it in a silent prayer that she would get already that this was her moment to wake up.

He just opened his mouth when Ceryneia started to move all of a sudden, almost picking her antlers in Stiles’ eyes- until she finally found her way outside the car. She zigzagged between the hopeless guys who desperately tried to stand in a line together to block her, and escaped away into the woods.

“Well, what can I say.” Stiles was the one to smirk this time. “If even the hunting goddess herself doesn’t have fast movements enough for her, then your gang will never be able to as well. I’m really impressed you can still stand me even while breaking all your hard-working family’s records.”

The door was quickly shut on Stiles’ face again, but it only made Stiles sad that he could not watch that furious face as long as he wished he could.

-

Stiles was only received his phone with its battery once he was dropped back at his house. Preferring to know what level of hell was waiting for him inside, he turned on his mobile to check all the messages that had waited for him to read.

His Father had not needed to make a lot of calls to figure that he would not get an answer anytime soon, though the amounts of calls he had gotten from Derek’s number made him worried even more.

They all were taken at a specific date, which was about the second day since he was taken to the forest at Washington.

Stiles hurried to carry all of his belongings up the front steps, and was struggling to find where the hell he saved his copy of his house keys when the door was suddenly opened.

Deputy Parrish raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles swallowed. “Um, hey. How’s it going?”

“Better than it will be for you when the Sheriff gets home in ten minutes. He defined you as missing, and talked to at least dozen other counties.”

 _Shit_.

Well, _that_ was something that would officially turn him into a dead man- but only later, after he would make sure the others were okay.

It would take too long to find an informative enough message between all that he had sent, and so Stiles decided to listen to the voicemails first, as he shoved past the Deputy to enter his house.

While searching through his room for any clue, Stiles waited impatiently while his Father’s record voice was cursing and yelling at him through the phone. Those messages took most of the storage, which left not much room for the lone one from Derek, who asked him to call in case he was listening to it before night time of the day he had called it.

Then, just as he was about to give up, he found a note: " _If we don’t meet you before you read this, go to the_ _Beacon Hill’s old mall. They’ll meet us there."_

Stiles knew right away that the _They_ Derek had written about was the Alpha Pack.

He typed Derek’s phone number in shaking hands, pleading in whispers for an answer.

“Stiles, what’s going on?” The Deputy peeked into his room. “What’s this all about?”

Recalling he had no much time before his Father would come, Stiles quickly cancelled the call and left the phone on the table so he would not be tracked, while grabbing the Jeep’s keys off of it instead.

Yet _another_ travel to a ghost town. His life knew all the best ways to reward him for his sacrifices.

“You can’t go anywhere!” Deputy Parrish stood right in the doorway, ready to block Stiles’ way out. “Please, you just disappeared for a week, think about your Dad!”

Stiles’ heart clenched.

There was a thought that had bugged him through the entire time he had spent away: he had forgotten to write _I Love You_ in the letter he left to his Father. Even though he had not expected to be in a risk at any point during the Labour, and most of the things he had written were fake anyway- Stiles knew that out of all the bullshit, his Father had still searched for the one true sentence between the rest.

And after the talk they had had last week, Stiles knew it would not be because of some detective skills, but because of _parental_ instincts- ones he had over such an ungrateful son.

And yet, ironically, _Stiles_ had been the one to be asked to accept the other as a father.

“I’ve already made him so disappointed before that he had no anger to yell at me,” Stiles found himself murmur, chokily.

Because Stiles was used to the feeling, and so was the Sheriff, and this was surely not going to be the last time.

Stiles shoved the piece of paper in his pants’ pocket, and with sharp moves, he dropped the Deputy to the floor. Parrish was trying to fight back, clearly more expert than Stiles with hand to hand combat, but it was still not enough compared to Stiles’ strength.

“He said there was something wrong with your leg, too, please let me check it!” The Deputy shouted after him, but Stiles ignored him as he knocked him out with one strike, and hurried downstairs.

The Jeep, appreciating the week-long rest, let its engine run smoothly enough for Stiles to take off right away. He considered checking at the Loft first, but had a hunch that he should start with the mall anyway.

Stiles felt sick from thinking another clash had happened just when he had been away from Beacon Hills for long enough to not be able to offer any help, chasing after some stupid Hind in the calm of the woods.

It indeed was too naïve of him to think almost a week could pass with them patiently waiting for his return. Either Derek finally finding a lead to the new hideout, or the Alphas had planned all along to wait until right after the full moon to attack again, probably assuming that Derek’s pack had suffered greatly during the last full moon, if not lost the lives of some with no other choice.

How could Stiles have ever believed he could fight in those two battles at the same time?

With his thoughts storming over different speculations on what he should expect, Stiles had arrived by the abandoned mall. It was situated at the same neglected area as the bank the Alpha Pack had used to hide at, and so he did not have to only rely on his memory of it from the time it had still been active.

He turned off the engine when he suddenly realized he had rushed so much that he had not thought about taking with him any weapon. Count of Stiles to teach himself how to tap into his Demigod potential, or whatever it was, and still lose to his ADHD when the moment of truth came.

It was too late to go back, and he entered in anyway. It was dusty, full of dry leaves and dark even with the moonlight that broke inside. His heart pounded so loudly that it felt like it echoed in the empty place- like it was sucking any little piece of life, after all the people that had used to fill with that place with so much noise had stopped to come.

Shivers hit his body harder and harder the more he got closer to the center of the mall, where the escalators were. Stiles remembered that there used to be an ice cream stand right in front of it, and wished he could recall more about those sweet, beautiful days, when his pre-sick Mother could spend time alone with him out the house, with no danger that she would have walked out on him in a sudden fit of rage.

His blood froze in his veins when he noticed that there was a figure standing on the still stairs, and not a friendly one. Maybe it just was in his blood to fight actual monsters that he was not on the verge of fainting whenever he encountered one- unlike when he was on his own with an Alpha Werewolf, looking at Stiles straight in the eye.

Deucalion had his hands crossed above his walking stick, and wore a coat like there was any possibility a Werewolf like him would feel cold on a Californian summer night. It looked like, once again, no one had informed him that it was night time anyway, as he was still wearing his sunglasses- although Stiles had a feeling that even his fellow Alphas did not feel comfortable to look at him without them.

“It is customary to bring a companion unless something else is written in the invitation. I am surprised a social person like you decided to come alone.” Deucalion’s expression on his darkened face could not be seen from the distance that was between them, and so there was no telling if it was amusement or disappointment that was hidden behind his laid-back tone.

Stiles swallowed, imagining the pain of the hard slap he would have given himself in that moment if he was not already injured enough. “You were the one to leave the note.”

How could he lose his cool so much that that option had never occurred to him?

Deucalion sighed. “Unfortunately, your friends have already left the party some time ago. But not without leaving a mark.”

Stiles frowned at Deucalion, who gestured with his head to Stiles’ right, where the escalator which led to the lower level was. Stiles walked there carefully, tearing his eyes off of the Alpha only when he was close enough to be able to see.

His heart stopped the moment he noticed the traces drained blood on the balustrade.

All of a sudden, he was pulled by the back of his collar, and was thrown back to the air. Just before he hit the ground, a hand clutched at his neck added power to his fall, slamming it right into the hard floor.

He could barely hear his own grunts with the ringing in his ears. The palm chocking his neck was persistent and did not allow Stiles to move, and his airway being almost completely blocked did not help for him to regain his focus. He only noticed Deucalion coming closer just when his shadow reached his face.

Deucalion crouched before him, and began tracing Stiles’ face with his fingers.

With every little movement that Stiles did, warning claws poked his skin harder. He was still somewhat struggling with not passing out, and his sight getting blurry every now and then- but he knew it was smarter to listen quietly instead of fighting back and getting no answers.

“You resemble her now even more than you did in your youth,” Deucalion noted with a half of smile. “It was heartbreaking, really, the moment I told your Mother about Zeus' trick and the rage of Hera.”

Stiles’ heart rate doubled with the mention on his Mother, which told what his voice could not function to express, out of shock.

“At the long run, I achieved a key to success the day I lost my natural vision.” Deucalion weirdly skipped starting explaining something else. “You see, a wolf is lost when he cannot rely on even just one of his senses- but my case is different, as I got two at the loss of one. Being an Alpha, I learned how to better see as a wolf- an ability that was left undamaged; I can locate heat sources even before I hear them, and process my sight quicker. Not only that, but I can also see my target’s intentions as well, even if not literally through my eyes.”

“Why did you mention something that got my attention if it takes you decades to get to the point?” Stiles crocked under the hand’s pressure on his throat.

“I am only doing whatever I can to help you fully understanding any little yet essential detail I will provide you.” Deucalion kept talking in a natural tone, as though Stiles' grunts were nothing to interfere him. “You did not notice, but not only have I taken measures to do that, but I also took notice of your fair warning that you're quite the talkative, so I made sure to keep your vocal cords busy enough.”

Stiles knew quite a few people who would like to take tips from him for his excellence in the last-mentioned subject.

Not that Stiles could really afford to resist Deucalion’s measures at that point, when his lightheadedness had not only been caused by the hard landing alone.

“Everything you’ve told me the day we’ve last met -- the training, your supernaturality -- I was aware of it all for a long time, and for even longer than that about the story behind it. I’m quite familiar with the dear Deity Athena, you see. She was the one to bless me with the wisdom of being aware of the future moves of my surroundings. In other words, she made me a seer.”

Stiles’ eyes widened.

Within one year, all at once, he had met so many people who were somehow involved with the Deities, after looking so long for only one person to be able to tell him just a little more than the nothing he had known his background. But, of course, he had to pay a price for his long-time wish, as they all happened to be enemies of his, who wanted nothing but witnessing his failure.

Was Deucalion’s familiarity with Athena the reason for him to become an Alpha of other Alphas, too? The same method of getting a patron worked quite well with Gerard, after all.

“It was confusing, at first. I used to think I had no control over which person I would get a vision of. After all, why would I predict Zeus impregnating yet another poor woman, along with their boy’s birth?”

Was that what Gale had meant, when she had told Stiles that everyone in the Olympus, along with those who were related to them, had gotten the information as a gossip?

“Later on, I would learn that, while being able to see others’ future through touch -- whether it was a living being or an object -- I appear to also get revelations of incidents which don’t involve me, though they do include a person who will cross roads with me one day.”

“So I guess I’m the reason to why Hera never let Gerard touch you,” Stiles dared to speak up again. “There’s no way he didn’t hear about someone like you being around.”

The Alpha’s smile stretched wider.

As though on cue, the weight on his throat was removed. Before he could do something, though, he was being rolled over to lay on his stomach, with a part of his shirt being ruthlessly torn off in the process- and not much longer after, unmerciful claws tore through his back.

The pain was so sharp that Stiles emptied the little amount of air that was left in his lungs as he screamed in a combination of surprise and pain. He did not allow himself to shift even an inch, as another strike of claws might get deep enough through his flesh that it would reach his heart.

“Usually I am patient in my wait for the future to reveal whatever it has in store for me.” Deucalion just kept going on, ignoring Stiles’ cries. “But this vision of your Mother was my very first one, when I was only seven years old. Having the picture of her all these years, born it became to be one of the visions I had cherished the most. I felt responsible to relieve her with clarity once you’d be born, but first I had to find her. I had told about the vision to every single Emissary I had come across, including Alan Deaton, in case he would ever hear of a woman who bore a Demigod. Then, at one of my visits here, after a while of being away- he told me about you two.”

At that point his tone changed, and now almost sounded like it carried an honest nostalgia.

“At long last, I could see both of you in person, and close this chapter in my life. I told her I came to deliver Zeus’ blessing, who now agreed to have his real identity revealed. I'm glad I got to meet her, before my ability to witness any kind of beauty was taken for the second time, not so long after."

Stiles did not know whether it was the power behind the claws, or that some Alpha magic was added to that- but no matter how curious he was about Deucalion’s story, and for how long it went- it was not enough to distract him from the pain.

And yet, when he clenched his fist, it was mostly because of the thought of a bastard like Deucalion meeting his clueless Mother, who was hopeless from lack of answers for all the non-logical things that were happening to her and made her feel insane.

“I hope you’re close to the end,” the other Alpha, Ennis, spoke with his ever-toying voice. “It looks like it becomes late for the kid to stay awake. How about we’ll take a break to wake him up a little?”

In order to prove the true mercy in the heart of their pack, the Alpha chose then to come to his aid by adding another source of pain to the current one.

Ennis sat on the lower part of Stiles’ back, dug his claws under the lines of skin which separated between the scratches, and use it as a way to hold Stiles’ body as he pulled it up.

Screaming out in agony, Stiles could not focus on any good reason to keep with it anymore, not when he was about to black out anyway.

He rolled Ennis off of him by holding onto his ankles, and outcried as more of his skin was torn. He trembly forced himself to stand up, though straightening up his back was not an option, no matter the fact he had to get ready for a battle.

Ennis, on the other hand, got back on his feet pretty quickly. Stiles put his leg back so he could get as far as possible, expecting his rival to strike him with his arms- but was surprised when he used them to surrounded Stiles’ waist, and threw him over his shoulders.

Luckily, Stiles had managed to maneuver himself in time and landed on his shoulder rather than his back with the open wounds on it.

As the Alpha’s reflexes made him always quicker to answers Stiles’ punches, he knew he would have to wait for the right moment to load his arm with everything he got and stretch it out. He knew he had enough strength to defeat him through a concussion, but he was still to untrained to pull off something which required precision fast enough.

Until that, he would have to divide his power to a couple of hits in different spots on the Alpha’s body.

Comparing to the other, he was not able to get up very gracefully, and yet was wiser this time by choosing to run to him just to attach both of his legs in the air and direct a dropkick to Ennis’ shin. As soon as he got up, Stiles jumped in a rotation motion in the air, and sent a back elbow to the area of his groin, causing him to fall backwards again.

Stiles hissed at his own sharp movements, but refused to let it stop him.

He was planning to attack the upper body area, only Ennis had other plans: instead of getting up as before, he leaned back on his hands, and pushed himself forward- charging his shoulder right into Stiles’ middle, spearing him.

All the air was knocked out of Stiles’ lung the moment he landed hard on the deep cuts on his back, no being able to even scream.

Ennis looked at his already clenched fist, and seemed to have seconds thoughts as he smiled maliciously and opened his palm wide to chop at Stiles’ chest.

Stiles yelled, and was hugging himself protectively when, right after that, the Alpha held both of his legs under his arms, to the level of his waist, and picked them up with him as he was standing up- just to raise Stiles a little higher above him and toss him to the ground, spine first.

Instincts working better than ever due to his pain from that specific area, Stiles curled a little into himself and turned aside, so the slam into the ground would affect as less from his back as possible.

Seemingly looking for the finishing move, Ennis positioned his arms on Stiles’ head, in what could only be a preparation to snap his neck. Stiles clutched trembling hands at his fingers with everything he got, and to the other’s visible shock, was able to get them away from his face. He then proceeded by throwing Ennis into the air, and jumped forwards as far as he could.

He was able to grab one of Ennis’ legs just as he landed, and though he tried to roll to get him away, and kicking at him with his free one- Stiles twisted it until the bone finally snapped with a gross sound, leaving his foot curved in a very wrong way.

The sound of the growl that came out of Ennis was almost as unpleasant for Stiles’ ears. Stunned by both reasons, he barely noticed Ennis rolling over, and for that was almost was hit by the right arm that was coming to his face.

Stiles was able to duck and dodge it right in the last moment; next, finally remembering to use a trick that Coach Finstock had taught him- he caught the arm under his left armpit, making it harder on the Alpha to react- and took advantage of it to _finally_ punch him in his head with just enough power that the large Alpha fell right back to the floor, knocked out.

Stiles stared down at him, his heavy breaths coming out more as grunts than panting.

“Kill him.” Deucalion’s voice surprised Stiles from behind him; he almost forgot he was not there with Ennis alone. “Do it now, and instead of going to kill the others, I’ll give you a chance to join me.”

Stiles turned to face him. He would probably have had a surprised expression if he was not too busy with wincing in pain, as his back’s will to support him decreased with every passing moment. The shirt, or what was left of it, was soaked with blood, and Stiles wished it would not have been that painful to get it off. The fabric touched the burning wound with any little breeze, even when he was standings still.

“I have already told you about my obsession with potential, have I not?” Deucalion continued. “You seem to have an obsession of your own with Werewolves, although you do not seem to look for the bite. Either you pity us so much that you try to force peace between us, or you perhaps think that what you are now is enough.”

Stiles gasped wetly, tears of pain in his eyes. “What good will it do for me, if at any given moment you can suddenly decide to kill me for someone more interesting?”

Deucalion smirked at him. “You have just put down one of the most powerful Alphas to this date while under the effect of their claws, not to mention that Gigante you’ve fought away, who is incomparable in its power. There is nothing which can be compared to being genetically gifted by the Deities, and throughout the entire history of mankind, you seem to be the one to be gifted the most- and that can be said even while you’re far from your peak. Just imagine what will happen when you have the best of today’s Alphas by your sides- Zeus himself will bow down to you. After what he has done to you, won't it be ironic that the destiny of a son of Zeus collaborated with the successors of Lycaon?”

Connecting the pride his own kind with someone who expressed his own pride by feeding someone human flesh? It looked to Stiles like Deucalion must have been damaged in more areas than his eyes.

Stiles shrugged with one shoulder, wincing again in the process. “The only follower of such a disgusting legacy I’ve met so far is you, so I prefer to stick to Derek and the rest for now. I don’t know if by collaborating you meant that you want to bite me, but I’m now gladder than ever that I’ve disagreed the first time I was asked that, even if it felt back then that it could make stuff much more clear and easier for me.”

Deucalion had his smile down for a few moments, until the tips of his mouth stretched upward the moment Stiles finished talking.

He dropped his sunglasses and walking stick on the ground, and started to put his jacket off as he walked to Stiles’ direction. His eyes were terrifying, like he had a reddish foggy ball instead of iris and pupils.

“As much as I would love to volunteer to take a part in that experiment, and bite you myself…” Deucalion took a dramatic pause just as he stopped a few meters from Stiles, and then started to shift.

The red was spread almost all over his horribly sunken eyes, and its shade was possibly even more neon-like than any Alpha Stiles had seen before. Along with the expected facial changes of a shift, his skin’s colour turned dark grey.

It was not as hideous as Peter’s Alpha shape, probably because Deucalion was not evil by nature -- if his story and the impression it made were true -- but still dreadful enough to show how inherently he had deteriorated.

“…I'm not that fool to take the risk of you being stronger than me,” Deucalion finished, with almost every word was brought out with a deeper, more monstrous-like tone.

It would have seriously scared Stiles, if he had not fought other creatures with unnatural voices as this before.

As Deucalion looked closer to human, though, Stiles had to admit to himself that it was still somehow different than the other cases.

Grunting, he forced himself to stand again- which he could only do while stooping.

“It is still okay to regret,” Deucalion promised, though with his new voice he did not sound very convincing. “We both know you’re not in a state to defeating me. I’ve seen visions of some of your fights, and I know that most of your victories were thanks to your divinity fighting instincts rather than skill or knowledge. Be sure that I would not have been standing in front of you right now if I had any doubt that I am much superior to you.”

Stiles knew the part about his victories very well: none of them could have been considered as a fluke, even if he had had the luck for those. Even when he had first tried to fight Coach with a stick, he had managed to bring him down in a heartbeat, without his body letting him understand what he was doing. During the very few months he had trained, he had not made a lot of progress to get close to what he could do instinctively, when he was under pressure or stressed out.

Even now, the more he felt the tension of the inevitable battle in the air- not only the pain became gradually less noticeable, but even the way he was standing was suddenly much closer to the one Coach had shown him for a hand-to-hand combat.

“I've always wondered about Seers, when I come to think of that.” Stiles tried to buy more time, just because talking until a greater idea would come was an even stronger instinct of his. “So, let's see if I got this right- you can see glimpses of the future, which you can't change or control. Some of them happen _because_ you have seen them. But let’s say that, hypothetically, you saw that you're the winner of this fight: if you don't make any move at all on me, you'll still somehow win no matter how much damage I'll do to you, right?”

Deucalion did not seem to be able to make too many face impressions in the form he had now, but from the way he raised his eyebrows, he seemed even happier than previously about the upcoming battle.

“Good thing I couldn't get any vision about this fight, so we can find it out ourselves. Spoilers mostly ruin the fun, from my experience.”

“ _Stiles_!”

Stiles did not really have to see the one who screamed his name to know who it was, but it was a good thing he had raised his head anyway to look up the escalators that Deucalion had stood at in the start- so he would see his battle bat that was thrown at his direction by Derek.

Deucalion, who noticed it too, jumped to catch it before it would get to Stiles, but the boy expected just this: he caught his leg and pulled it down forcefully, just as the dark Alpha’s claws touched the bat.

Stiles ran to the direction that the bat was supposed to hit on the ground, only his human-average speed was not fast enough for that; less than half the way there, he was shoved aside into a pillar.

Deucalion was not interested at the bat as much as he was in avoiding Stiles from getting it- that at least the impression he made, when he just threw the bat away, and came after Stiles instead.

Stiles, who was sitting with his back to the pillar- rolled aside just when Deucalion was too close to stop himself, causing him to run through the pillar, which broke down on him.

Stiles took advantage of it to run to his bat once more, but by the growl that came from behind him, he knew he was going to be avoided from reaching this time as well, especially as he was feeling the crack in his bone getting closer to become a serious fracture.

Ceasing his running, Stiles ducked enough to escape the Alpha’s claws and surrounded his abdomen to suplex him over his head in a quick maneuver.

Stiles finally was able to get his hands on the bat, and pushed the button to draw out the spikes as he picked it up.

He turned his head to see Derek crouching in front of Ennis, with a pool of blood around his head, presumably coming from a slashed throat.

The sight made Stiles freeze, especially when Derek turned to him with not a little bit of self-doubt or regret in his red eyes.

But of course Derek would have no doubt- that was one of the kidnappers of his Betas, after all. He had been willing to _kill_ them. Why would he feel any remorse, or second-questioning himself about the need to put down someone who would always come back?

Stiles felt jealous in a very sick way- how it was such an obvious thing for Derek, unlike him, who only had had big words when it came to what should be done with someone dangerous. But when it came to acting on it  -

“ _Duck down_!” Derek yelled at him suddenly, and Stiles managed to do just that, without letting himself surrender to the curiosity to look behind him.

Looking above him, he noticed the dark arm retreating after reaching where his head had been just a slight moment ago.

Stiles stood up, and tried to block and sneak attacks with his bats as much as he could. His blows were hard enough to leave bleeding marks on Deucalion’s arms and chest, but not deep enough to slow him down.

Then, out of the blue, Derek showed up- but what meant to be a kick to the back of the head hit Deucalion’s cheekbone instead, as he turned around to slap Derek to the floor.

With a few vocally clicks of the sharp movements of the jaw- the bones in the dark Alpha’s face connected again, like nothing had happened a moment before. He wasted no time before he grasped Derek by his throat with one hand, choking him and shoving his claws into the skin- deeper, and deeper…

Stiles raised his bat, and with a rotary motion, he wielded it at Deucalion- who tried to block it with his free hand to no avail, with Stiles’ strength pushing it away, and eventually hit him right on the side of the head, with a few spikes piercing through the skull.

Deucalion collapsed even before he had a chance to unhand Derek, retreating back to human-like shape. Stiles could barely find his breath, trying to look for any sign that would tell him that his enemy was pretending and would assault him any second, but the more he calmed down out of his battle mode, the more he became aware of himself.

All at once, Stiles was flooded with the feeling the open, still bleeding wounds on his back, then the effect of all that blood that he lost- and along with the leg which pumped with pain, it all became too much.

Too much for him to handle it all while staying awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/169199107511/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-9)


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles’ unconsciousness went on and off for an annoying period of time.

On the first time, he felt like he was floating away- yet something kept touching his back, a continual stabbing pain that got worse every time he tried to roll away from the touch. He was too out of it to understand what was happening, and he was so hopeless that he wanted to cry- until some force finally dropped him on his stomach, and the pain was drifted away enough to let Stiles sink back into sleep.

At another time, his cheek rested against something cold that Stiles wanted so hard to touch his burning back, no matter how hard and uncomfortable it was. He felt something messing with his leg, but even his vague mind could recognize the professional hands and the relief it brought him, so he did not care that much. What did disturb him was the shouts - was it his Father’s voice? It was an angry tone that Stiles had never heard him use before. Even though it was rare to hear his father getting angry on someone else when he was in the room, he knew he had had some part in it, and wished his Father would just stop caring for him once and for all, so he would not have to worry like this every day anymore.

With that thought -- as though on suspicious cue -- silence finally prevailed in the room, and the pain was drifted away once more.

He had other times where he randomly woke up, as his body could not tolerate the merciless pain, no matter how exhaust he was. Most of those times, though he did not have to wait more than a couple of minutes before a touch sucked any little sense of ache in his body, and by that his vague connection to the reality.

At one point he had enough -- or, more correctly, his body was the one to decide it for him -- and he woke up properly at last.

The first thing Stiles saw when he opened his eyes was a black, spiral staircase, and from that he knew right away he was in the Loft. Unexpectedly waking up there again, just like after the night of the full moon, felt like Derek took a part in a conspiracy where Stiles was avoided from staying home- but he could not complain about that, as he was too busy cursing about his itching body.

When he sat up, the blanket slipped enough to expose his bandaged chest, who covered what he felt like stitches on his back. There was a cast on his leg, too, which worried him the most.

They had done that once again; they had defeated that season’s villain. Stiles could not feel any happiness about it, even as it left him with one less trouble- it was still not nearly enough time to relax and heal properly until next time. He was sure he was going to make it to the last Labour in a wheelchair, and that thought washed him with enough anxiety to bring him back to the present.

Looking around the room, his heart stopped beating for a moment when he recognized the Sheriff lying asleep on the sofa, which was placed right beside the bed.

 _Derek’s_ bed, he realized with embarrassment. Not that Derek would use it ever again until it went through a thorough cleanup, though.

But even without that, Stiles could tell just how serious the situation was by having his Father sleeping there in his uniform. He had not even bothered to stop by their home before he headed right by the Loft after work, and you could count just how many hours of sleep he had skipped just by how far the dark circles under his eyes went.

Stiles knew he should be afraid of what would be said when he woke up, but he was even more reluctant by the idea of waking up his Father simply because he did not want to take hours of sleep away from him.

The son instinct kicked in even when someone appeared in front of him out of the blue, and he managed to block a startling yelp, along with a cry of pain for moving sharply.

It was just Derek, though, who raised his eyebrows at Stiles as he offered him the glass of orange juice.

As nonchalantly and inexpressively as possible, Stiles covered his unbandaged area with the blanket again before taking the held-out glass with a surly expression. Derek took it away from him when he finished about half of the capacity.

“What are you doing?” Stiles hissed; his body felt weak in a way that sleep could not help with anymore, and knew he would need much more than that. “My stomach will be just fine the more things I get inside.”

Derek sat on the bed. “You have no idea how much blood you -- ”

Stiles hurried to shush him, pointing at his sleeping Father.

Derek had a strange face when he looked at the Sheriff, like watching him made an uncomfortable thought went through his mind- but his face wore its typical scowl again once he looked back at Stiles.

“He asked to wake him up the moment you’re awake,” Derek told Stiles, this time with a thankfully lower-toned voice.

Stiles could not accept that, even though he did not really have any right to dismiss even more of his Father’s orders.

He knew that one of the reasons the Sheriff had been awake for so long was so he could be there when Stiles woke up, but just how focused would he be for that anyway? He needed any additional minutes of sleep he could get.

“Just let him have at least half an hour more.” Stiles looked at Derek again, pleading. “Please.”

Stiles learned to identify Derek’s understanding eyes enough that he knew his answer even before he nodded.

It started to be terrifying, really, how easy it became to get Derek to listen to him.

Although not as much as sleeping in _Derek’s own fucking bed_.

Stiles looked awkwardly at the matters. “Um, you know you didn’t need to put me _here_ , right? Last time, when I slept on your couch, it was- “

Surprisingly, Derek made a sound that was undoubtedly a merely-swallowed snort. Stiles worryingly made sure that it did not disturb his Father’s sleep -- another unnecessarily too quick movement for his body – and winced as he faced Derek again, staring at him angrily.

It did not unfazed the other at all, though; in fact, Derek seemingly founding Stiles’ words to be endearingly silly.

And still, it did not explain how they got to a point where Derek was bowing his head, just barely hiding his smiley face.

Something had to be broken in Stiles, because even if his mind did not make that incredible sight: the Sourwolf he had known until that point suddenly looked so much younger and glowing, that anything else in Stiles’ body was able to function properly to that reaction.

Stiles had no idea what he had done to deserve such an intimate gesture from Derek, but he cursed it anyway for the way his heart melted at the rare, almost too-impossible-to-be-true reaction. Everything in him was heated like he was close to the sun, and suddenly he really wanted to be absorbed into one.

“Do you even realize what you’ve done last night?” Derek asked like he was talking about something impressive.

Which was weird, because all Stiles had done was to knock Deucalion senseless while the Alpha had been in his strongest form- which should sound impressive only to someone who had not been there to witness what had really happened.

Because no matter how you put it, Stiles had not done what _really_ had to be done.

“I realize I didn’t kill him.” Stiles lowered his own head, fisting his hands and forcing himself not to be attempted to let the moment continue on.

Derek huffed. “You could barely keep standing, Stiles. You weren’t in a condition to even stop him, so I could finish him myself, and yet -- ”

“ -– I’m not talking physically.” Stiles started chewing on the joint of his thumb. “I- I just couldn’t.”

He knew without looking that Derek was taken aback a bit by that, but in his eyes, it was for the better.

Stiles may have proven, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was not a useless distraction to others anymore- but in some way, he was still useless. The most he could do was to act as a decoy, which was very necessary sometimes- but there was nothing worth praising about that.

He was born with the potential to be more than just a simply strong individual, one of the others could be calm to not reach immediately to his aid.

Stiles was a the-best-offence-is-a-good-defence kind of guy- both in his video games and as a fighter in real life. But while as a fictional character, which was controlled from the safe distance of outside his computer, he had to ability to bring the best of that mindset, and lead his teams to countless victories thanks for that- in reality, where actual real people were in danger, he felt ridiculously far away from that level.

How would it ever be natural for him to use his terrifying graceful skills in every situation? Why was he able to summon it at will as long as he did not have to feel something being annihilated by his hands, like with the Hind- but to be otherwise too shaken, until something as extreme as someone else’s life was in risk occurred?

If only he was a Demigod in all senses as well, and killing others was something he could be used to fast.

“No,” Derek eventually agreed, with a strange restraint in his voice, “not on your own, as a member of Scott’s pack.”

Stiles snapped his head, narrowing his eyes a little with disappointment. “What? Why do you still think it works that way? I wouldn’t have stood by your side and work together with you unless- ” Stiles cut himself off with a groan, and rubbed his face. “Didn’t we talk about this, the other day? You literally know what I _feel_ about your pack being in trouble, and that my commitment was one-hundred percent coming from me. I wasn’t given permission to act on those feelings and work together with you, by your sides, as long as I don’t kill anyone in the end. Scott is the only one with Werewolf instincts, so we act as a pack only when it’s needed. Other than that, I’m not obliged to follow his policies at any given time. From the very start, to the very end, I’m here on my _own_ behalf, not on his.”

Stiles raised his gaze again to see Derek’s features somewhat more relaxed.

He knew he had to be tolerated about that point of view, as black-and-white kind of view it was. It had to be why the others kept insisting there had to be something dirty in his passionate will to help them, too, which was why they kept denying facts and ignoring the steady beat of his heart when he was speaking the truth.

But as much as he needed Derek to know that, he could not let him being thankful for Stiles. After all, why a person who cared so much about protecting others would chicken out when the only way to stop it was murder?

“Anyway, you don’t understand what I meant. I have a Greek warrior's instincts, and I barely feel any pain at all when I’m in a battle mode. Killing someone should be easy for me, like it is for you.”

Derek’s body tensed a bit more. Stiles knew it was not something appropriate to say, but he hated Derek’s blindness to everything, like Stiles did not be deserved to be judged no matter what, just because he had succeeded to prove some points, which he could not see the necessity in any of them anymore.

Then the tips of Derek's mouth raised up a bit, while he tried to remain with a serious face.

“So you’re saying it’s a good thing that I’ve tried to kill Lydia that day?”

Stiles frowned in aversion. He had never had a chance to call out Derek properly about it, come to think about it- but now was the worst timing ever, while having to keep his voice as down as he could next to his still deep in sleep Father.

“Fuck no, what the hell? There’s a difference between being an idiot who does experiments on something he doesn’t know anything about, besides some bedtime stories, and encountering the monster who’s kidnapped and tortured your classmates for _months_. By the way, you better feel sorry now, even after she sort-of zombiefied Peter. He was playing with her mind and was using her, just like you were used by Scott.”

Stiles swallowed, as it was still hard for him to comprehend his best friend’s problematic side. He knew, though, that if it could be used for any good- it was for demonstrating to Derek what Lydia had been through, which he knew about after Derek had told Scott about it. If that could potentially calm things down between two Stiles needed to at least being able to cooperate in the future, with the next person to target their town- then it was worth it.

Derek slowly nodded in understanding. All it left was for Derek to find a way to apologize to Lydia, even if in his non-spoken way- and Stiles could officially embrace Derek to his circle of close-but-too-weird-to-be-considered-as-friends that Lydia was also currently at.

“Even before all of that, I thought I did the right thing for everyone’s sake when I tried to assassinate Lydia,” Derek said. “Even when it turned out she wasn’t the Kanima, I’ve only realized what I’ve almost had done later, when she reunited with Jackson.”

Stiles felt contented. Hearing Derek reaching an insight like that all by himself was a great surprise, although Stiles should have guessed he had made that, considering his recent changes in behaviour.

“So the reason you’ve trained Jackson after he turned into a normal Werewolf was to make up for it?” Stiles asked.

Derek exhaled heavily, looking away for a moment. “More for forsaking him after something went wrong with the bite. Either way, we can’t afford a rouge Omega. Hopefully, after the summer he’ll be convinced to at least join Scott.”

Stiles stared at Derek with panic. “Oh no, please tell me you won’t force us to put up with Jackson ‘till the end of high school, if not afterwards. Why can’t _you_ let him in?”

“I would, if he only agreed to the offer. Until both Scott and he will find an acceptable Alpha, they’re going to be a target while on their own, when you’re not always around, like in situations like this.”

It brought Stiles back to the subject they had left aside.

Stiles swallowed again, this time out of guilt. “Like I’ve done with you and your pack. Well, what can you expect from a guy who got excited by the possibility of finding a dead body in the woods, and ruined their grave without batting an eye? We were lucky Deucalion didn’t actually meet with you.”

“He did.”

Everything in Stiles’ body stopped functioning with horror.

“They met us at the mall during the week you were away; that was how I knew where to find you. According to Deucalion, they waited until you’d be out of town to attack us. We all went out just fine, and whatever happened to the twins in their joined form after they were pushed down the escalator, not showing up last night can only tell -- ”

“ – _Twins in joined form_?” Stiles parroted, confused and even more shaken.

Derek shook his head dismissively as if it was not important anymore, to Stiles’ annoyance. “After I verified that the remaining two are dead, the Alpha Pack is defeated. You made your part to protect us, even with all the odds against you.”

Stiles barely snorted, looking down at his hands. “There are still difficulties I could have avoided. Cora would be able to tell you about them the best. Besides, you don’t know everything.”

“So do you. And Cora, for that matter.”

Stiles frowned. It was understandable to keep something from him, but from Cora? She may not know everything that had happened within the pack before her arrival, but what could it be that was still relevant to purposely keep it as a secret?

A few moments passed before Derek said: “My first ever murder was a euthanasia."

Stiles snapped his eyes back up to Derek, who stared back at him, sincere as ever.

“I still try, sometimes, to remember what it fell like when the bones were popped until they broke, but all that comes back is the relief with which the body fell loose in my arms. Within all the sorrow, I was almost glad that it was finally over. It thanks to the familiarity with that sense of quiet that makes me- _helps_ me finishing things fast.”

Stiles could not imagine himself in a situation where he was able to identify himself with that; he tried to focus as hard as he could on Derek’s words so he would accidentally fall into the memory of what the Lion’s body had felt like after it had exhaled its final breath.

“Whenever I’ve seen you hesitated, I’ve thought it was because of what was coming after,” Derek continued. “But then, you’ve managed to unleash your power the moment Deucalion’s hits weren’t targeted at you. It’s about the process itself, right? You’re afraid of the feeling of fragility.”

For Stiles, Derek was able to put his feelings into words- but it did not help him feel any better about that. It was not something that someone in his position could allow himself to fear, and especially not as a Demigod. Anxieties just did not connect with the concept.

“It makes sense now: why you haven’t gone mad the entire time you’ve avoided anything that had to do with your supernatural side; why you were disgusted from my bullet wound, but not from finding a dead body in the woods. It dangerous, especially when it refrained you should protect yourself, but it doesn’t mean you need to work on that to the point where killing would be that of an easy thing to do, and become what I’ve been. I’m sure _he_ will agree with that, too.” Derek gestured with his head to the Sheriff.

Stiles noticed that Derek’s tone had not changed ever since he started to make those points about him: it had stayed calm and sure, but Stiles was suddenly surprised with the realization of what it truly applied.

Because, if Stiles did not know Derek, he could be bold enough to even describe the impression from his voice as _kindness_.

It was one thing to pay for Stiles and stubbornly siding with him- but taking time to _reassure_ him about doing enough for his pack? His confusion just might be influenced by a comparison to the other Hales, who would surely not be pleased how Derek and Stiles went out alive only by a hair's breadth.

Whether Derek had changed in order to be able to see the full half of the glass, or because Stiles had somehow inspired him to show a very unused side in himself- scolding was what Stiles expected to hear, and knew he _deserved_ to.

Stiles shook his head, smiling down at himself bitterly. “How would he agree that my case is better than yours, after what I did to a dead body’s burial place, which I’ve even convinced Scott to join me in?”

Derek had never reacted on that before, even after Peter was taken care of and Scott had learned to control his shift. Derek had never been one to need apologies for things that cannot be undone, which, ultimately, had led Stiles to never think about the need to reflect about what he had done, as terrible as it had been.

He felt even more awkward than before to rest on Derek’s own bed, no matter all the help he had provided afterwards. None of them was enough to condone for disturbing his Sister’s body even more than it had been by being cut in half.

“Stiles,” Derek sought for Stiles’ gaze, which kept turning elsewhere. “ _Stiles_.”

Stiles eventually let him have it, as he realized he was not in a position to deny him of denying him from speaking his mind.

“What you’ve done for me, for _us_ \-- yesterday, the weeks before that -- proves that what you’ve done that day was for _her_ sake, when all you knew was that I’m a cold-blooded murder that had to be captured. The adventure excited you, but going against criminals and the one who your friend saw as an enemy was more important.”

There was a beaming honesty in Derek’s eyes, and it squeezed something tightly inside Stiles’ chest, making him flinch.

“Dude, listen, you _really_ gotta stop sugarcoat everything. Yes, I wanted to fight for justice and all that cliché stuff, but it still wasn’t respectful and should have been done by the authorities, as much I hate to rely on them. The only thing I can do now is helping you decorating whatever shitty, half-done grave that she was buried at after they took her out. And then to properly apologize to her.”

Derek eventually heaved a sigh through his nose at Stiles’ determined face. He undoubtedly had attempted to show his gratitude to Stiles through that conversation, but Stiles could not let him.

They had so many heart-to-hearts during the last month that Stiles sometimes almost forgot he still had a problematic part in all the good that he was trying to do, and he could not allow it to keep happening anymore. As lost as Derek had been as an Alpha, Stiles should not be praised by him like that; not through money, either, which had clearly disappointed Derek.

He opened his mouth to tell him about it, but luckily stopped himself from telling him so in the last second. If Derek knew Stiles felt like he did not deserve it for more reasons, he would suspect, and everything he had done would be in waste.

“About what you’ve said before,” he started instead, “about fragility- doesn’t what happened with Isaac make sense enough? I didn’t pretend for years that I hated to pick up even squirming animals just for safety’s case -- ”

“ -- You didn’t?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and was about to continue when Derek rose his eyebrows and gestured to a point right beside him.

“Then that’s your chance to prove it, with that spider over there.”

Stiles squealed.

Whether he had scared the little bastard away faster than his eye could catch, or it had not been there to begin with- the Sheriff was woken up in the process.

He yawned as he patted Stiles’ thigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, you know,” he said as he narrowed his eyes at Derek’s amused face, “just like someone left a nice little piece of art on my back with a chainsaw, and then used my shin as trampoline until it broke. No biggie.”

His Father nodded. “Which means I can be confident you won’t try to sneak out the house through the entire time you’ll be grounded.”

Stiles felt like the blood was emptied completely from his face.

“Sir,” Derek interjected, “you told me -- ”

“ -- I’ll give him a chance to give me the truth about those so-called friendly pals who helped him find who he is, but it won’t cover the lies he had told me.”

“But Dad, I told you I’ll tell you everything once I can talk about it!” Stiles protested.

“It didn’t have to include the fact that those two kids, Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes, were captive that entire time!” His still rusty from sleep voice rose. “It doesn’t matter who the abductors are, we can’t make it easy on them because someone makes sure the Sheriff doesn’t know!”

“I didn’t have time, Dad! The moments I knew something, was always the moments I had to act on it. That babysitter you set for me didn’t help, either.” Stiles went out of his defensive mode as he suddenly recalled how he took care of Deputy Parrish. “How is he, by the way?”

“You’re lucky he’s so forgiving,” his Father sighed. “I blame myself. I need to send them to more courses of refresher training, if a sixteen-year-old can take down my most skilled Deputy.”

Stiles snorted. “You’ll be surprised what I found out I can do under pressure.” He then turned back to Derek. “So how were you able to find me?”

“The Sheriff called me last night,” Derek answered, “told me you came back, received some kind of note and drove away with the Jeep. I knew he would take the first chance he would have to seduce you to come on your own, and the mall was my first guess. I’ve warned you through a text message, but I’ve never worried that much because I knew you’ll be returned straight to your house, and there were always police waiting there.” Derek pursed his lips for a moment, looking away. “I should have known he would be sneakier than that.”

“But why did you come on your own, too?” Stiles’ eyes were widened with panic as some terrible possible scenarios went through his head. “Where are the others? Are they okay?”

“A bit tired,” Erica’s voice was heard as she suddenly entered the Loft, followed by the three others teens, “after _someone_ sent us to celebrate the victory a little bit early, with the guest of honour still asleep.”

Stiles turned nervous. Whether it was a good idea or not to have Derek’s pack close to his Father, when they were not busy with investigations, it _defiantly_ was not going to end up good for him.

“I texted you he woke up so you’ll know it’s okay to come back if you _need_ something,” Derek retorted. “You should have stayed at home, now that you can have some free summer time.”

“If there was any good alternative at my home or with some other friends, then I don’t think you would have chosen me,” she winked at him as she sat on the big table, with the rest taking a seat on the chairs around it.

And with that way too suspiciously remark that Erica had made, Stiles was _certain_ it was too dangerous to let a gathering like that to happen.

He cleared his throat loudly, then smiled naïvely at his Father as though nothing was wrong. Had they _really_ not learnt yet how to be careful around those who were not confirmed to be aware of Werewolves?

“It’s okay- I’ve told him exactly what they are part of and everything else relatable,” Derek explained to Stiles. “From looking for a bunch of trustworthy, secretive and inconspicuous teenagers who would agree to join me in protecting the town from supernatural, like my family has done for centuries, to how you and Scott wanted to join in after the encounter with one of those creatures yet were as far as possible than what I was looking for, and then of how Boyd and Erica were taken hostage by the two Werewolves you fought against.”

Stiles gaped at Derek, too shocked by his ability to build such a good story that covered everything without revealing the important part of the truth. He was much better at that than Stiles had been so far, too.

Derek nodded at him, acknowledging his appreciation. He had his own reasons for doing that, of course, but he had respect for Stiles’ will to protect his Father from the secret as long as he could, too.

“What is this all about?” His Father looked at both of them. “Is there something Mr. Hale forgot to tell me?”

“Um, no, that pretty much it.” Stiles licked his lips. “Not that I can tell without hearing the more detailed explanation he had told you, anyway. I’m just shocked he shared all of this with you.”

“Alright. So now I’ll have to ask everyone to go back home as well.” The Sheriff turned to the others. “As minors who are protected by the country's laws- I have to forbidden Derek from having you in his company, as long as being around him put you under the attention of questionable people. I’ve yet to secure a restraining order, but please don’t make me hurry with it.”

Before they tried to protest, their Alpha raised his hand in a gesture of quieting them down.

“Fair enough,” Derek sighed. “Boyd, Erica, that’s your cue.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles turned the question to both his Father and Derek equally. “They’re not in current danger, but they were kidnapped _because_ they were away from Derek. They _have_ to near him or -- ”

“ -- Stiles,” Derek cut him in, “that’s okay. I’m sure the Sheriff knows what he’s doing, and that if they ever find themselves in danger again, he’ll make sure to make the right decisions accordingly. He was the one kind enough to exonerate me after two times of being reported as a suspect by a jealous teenager who never listens when someone doesn’t include them in something interesting. After that, I kinda tend to trust his ability with dealing with crimes.”

Stiles gaped at who he believed to be the ultimate traitor to ever being born, while dramatically narrowing his eyes at him.

It was one thing that he chose to stay petty about the mere situation of being a person of interest, regardless of the reason- but telling the true story in a very malformed way and make him look even more ridiculous in his Father’s eyes, in a _too much_ believable way?

“Who are you, by the way?” The Sheriff suddenly asked Cora, as Erica and Boyd made their way out.

“Cora, my Sister,” Derek answered for her. “She visits me every once in a while. She does those sorts of things with our family in South America, too.”

The Sheriff shook his head in a motion he did whenever he had enough of something to try to question it any further, and stood up. “In hope that I’ll be able to certify that this… _Werewolf gang_ didn’t associate themselves with someone else from around town, I’ll let Stiles rest here a little bit more until he’ll be able to be taken back home, by your leave. Again, I’m very, very grateful for your help.”

Derek shrugged. “I’m just glad you believe me. Your son helped us a lot, too, even if he did that by rushing into trouble most of the time.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Stiles almost started to miss the Derek he had talked to earlier.

“And I’m sorry, Derek,” the Sheriff lowered his tone, “but I’ll have to get the social consultant meeting you again for Isaac, after the recent events.”

Isaac looked panicked, and Stiles turned his eyes away after embarrassingly too long, not realizing he was staring. With the tension between them, he was not sure what to feel about that- but it for sure was not something good.

The Sheriff handed Stiles his phone, and everyone waited in silence until he went out and closed the door behind him.

“I’ll get to talk him out of that one for sure,” Stiles promised Derek. “But fuck, I can’t believe it feels like there’s even more trouble than before.”

“Trouble is better than a life-threatening situation. But don’t do anything about it.” Derek stood up and turned around to look at Isaac. “Whatever they’ll decide, I’m sure we will have no problem making them believe it’s the best for you to keep in touch with me.”

Isaac nodded, even if a bit unsurely.

Derek returned his gaze to Stiles again. “The same goes with Boyd and Erica- if their parents didn’t mind them hanging out away from home right after they returned, they won’t mind them finding their comfort here. Focus on your Labours for now.”

Stiles was not sure they would work it all out that easily, but did not say anything anyway, and turned his attention to the most recent text message on his phone instead.

As soon as he read it, his mood changed instantly. Feeling even more than before like the Labours had no meaning but make a joke out of him, he wanted to throw the phone out of the window in a fit of rage.

An act which, ironically, had the best potential to send him to that very location.

“What is it?” Derek wore a worried scowl.

“It’s the next Labour,” Stiles replied, and swallowed as he took a look at the message again. “Well, at least I have a better chance to make my Father agree to let me go there.”

-

A few fragmentary naps, and one embarrassing attempt to get to the bathroom by himself later- Stiles and his pillow were finally taken home.

It was a bit harder to deal with the pain without a nearby Werewolf not-so-subtly absorbing pain whenever Stiles dozed, although it eased the more time had passed.

The biggest relief, though, was not to see that deep scowl every time he had opened his eyes or had looked away from his phone to a moment. Stiles hated how it had made him frustrated, like he felt whenever someone he cared about was concerned because of him, but most of all the way that attention had heated his face. He had told himself that it was because Derek had only borrowed him a shirt to wear over his bandages just before he had left the Loft, though Derek had never made him feel uncomfortable for that.

They had agreed that Derek would drive him to Deaton -- so he could temporarily replace the plaster cast in favour of bandages, and be able to somehow still move around while fighting -- before he would go on the next Labour. Stiles did not like that so much, but could not let himself risking himself even further by trying to drive in his condition; at least he would use the bus to get out of Beacon Hills, in an excuse that he could not let his Father know about Derek being close to him in non-dangerous situations, which was the only reason he had to allow Stiles to go to his destination in the first place.

Stiles called him when the last day to complete the Labour came, hopeful that all the days he had had to spend at home without moving, not even for as little as required for playing video games- were worth it.

They did not talk during the drive, besides the rough “they’ll be fine” response which Stiles received after he had asked about his Betas. It was much more than what he had gotten from his Father, though, who had refused to talk about it, claiming that it anyway was the social services were dealing with it.

It was crazy, to deal again with issues from the real world and feel more helpless than going against a much stronger rival. It was at that point where they needed the Deities to be on their side more than ever, but even without most of them being Werewolves and hated by most of them as it was- Stiles was involved in possibly one of the most extreme disputes of mortals with Deities ever, and who knew how much unlikeable it made him seem to the other Deities.

All in all, there was nothing Stiles could think of saying to Derek’s annoying indifferent façade through the entire drive, as much as he wanted to soften it. He knew it was a bit hypocrite of him, as just a few days prior he had made it impossible to let Derek continue smiling- but it was because Derek did not deserve to be happy about something impure, like Stiles’ acts. Even if he had been proven to not try to ruin it for the pack, as they had speculated, he still was doing everything he could to make sure _they_ would not ruin it for _him_ , in his business with Gerard.

Nonetheless, Stiles swore to himself to make sure that for the nothing he could do for Derek on his own- he would do everything he could to indirectly affect him positively, through his own pack, before it all ended.

That way, whether the end would be in a shape of failure or success- at least Stiles would be able to let his heart feel a little bit lighter.

As they arrived at Deaton’s, Stiles insisted to walk inside by himself -- If he could not do at least that, then there was no way he would be fine without the cast – while Derek stayed in the car, so he could drive him later to the bus station.

“You still don’t have a broken bone,” Deaton informed him as he started to work quickly- probably in case customers would arrive, which fit for Stiles, who was himself in a hurry. “The impact is surely still there, though. The crack had to grow by a few more millimetres by now.”

“Thanks, but I think I can feel all of that on my own,” Stiles winced at the feel of his shin having nothing to support it. “It could be nice if you let us hear about things I don’t know by myself, like, I dunno- Deucalion having creepy dreams about my Mum, and found her thanks to _you_.”

Deaton stopped his doings and just stared at Stiles’ leg for a while. “He was… _different_ back then. He truly believed in peace between Werewolves and Hunters, and decided to engage with the Argents about it, at one point. That was how he got blinded again. Nevertheless, I have never imagined he would regain his ability as a seer and have even more visions, let alone about you. I have underestimated him, and even when I heard about his misdeeds, I still selfishly wished to put anything that had to do with that division away from me, since my role as Emissary was over.” He slowly raised his gaze until it met Stiles’, and nodded. “I’m truly sorry.”

Stiles was so surprised by his confession that he could not say anything as Deaton began to tape his leg.

The other looked for a way to break that heavy silence, though, and all of a sudden started talking.

“The power of being the strongest man alive, given by a Deity, and even killing a lion with bare hands. It starts to sound a lot like Samson's story, from the Old Testament.”

Stiles frowned; he had never told Deaton about the Lion, or to anyone else that he could hear about that from, for that matter. “How -- ”

“ -- I keep track of monsters as well,” Deaton answered simply. “Last week was an especially interesting one, with Artemis’ Hind.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. “And all that just by being an ex-Emissary Druid?”

Deaton shrugged. “Clearly, as a vet, I find animals fascinating. Isn’t it only natural that I’d be interested in those fantastic beasts as well?”

Stiles found that response to be questionable, but knew he did not have the time to interrogate about it. He would have to save it for another day, where knowing it became more critical and important than counting on his mercy to treat him with his injuries.

“So, is that Samson guy the one who was blinded and somehow held his power in his hair?” He asked instead.

“Indeed. He was a tragic hero, just the kind of character the Greeks used to admire more than all. His decisions were manipulated by his god in order to make him hold enough of a grudge against the Philistines, so he would kill as many of them as possible during his skirmishes with them.”

Stiles scratched his forehead nervously. “It ends well though, right? Doesn’t he kill them all by the end?”

Deaton raised his eyes from his leg, his voice too indifferent despise the hard statement he was about to deliver as usual. “By sacrificing himself, yes.”

Stiles nodded sarcastically. “That's good to hear.”

Deaton shook his head with an amused smile. “It was just an interesting comparison, that’s all. I don't believe the Deities have any intention to follow a humans’ story, but just to be safe, I'd advise to you to not let any woman you are not familiar with to catch your eye.”

The conversation got stuck in Stiles’ head anyway, especially the part about Samson holding grudges, and how stronger he got the more he let his hair grow- like Stiles had started doing. It had made much more sense in his case -- as unrealistic stories tended to do, apparently -- and the thoughts altogether raised in him once again the fear that all this Labours thing was just a huge joke; an entertainment to the Deities, where they made their bet on how much Stiles could handle before crashing the whole town himself, and possibly by his rage alone.

No matter how he could agree those thoughts were nothing but complete nonsense, he could not escape them that day, not with the way he was heading to.

Stiles had a feeling that it would be the less complicated Labour yet - which was supposed to make him relieved, considering his current condition - but not necessarily one he would like to talk about more than the others.

Not with all the explanation it had to be provided with.

Stiles did not realize how tense he was until he returned to Derek’s car, and met that same scowl he had been sure to leave behind while being treated by Derek.

They spent the rest of the way with Stiles promising over and over again that he could handle the rest of the day on his own.

-

They eventually arrived at the bus stop. Stiles may have had to check for the bus line number, but he did remember the place the bus picked up from very well- even after all those years since the last and only time he had had to go there on his own.

The bus was empty when he was one station away from there. He felt the bus driver checking him with a worried look through the rare mirror a couple of times, which was idiotic, since he had to notice that Stiles did not bring any suitcase with him or any bag big enough that could have implied he was sent to their destination rather than simply visiting.

Considering he was sure Stiles was a walking ticking bomb that was about to blow itself up at any given moment he could not really blame him to react that way; especially not after he actually had experienced an outburst quite recently, and the victim of the incident had surely had to wear the same expression the first time he had seen Stiles after the incident.

He felt like a kid again at the moment the familiar view of the woody hills was exposed to him just before they made it to his station. Neither the surroundings nor the look of the Farm -- _Chiron: Rehabilitation Farm For IED Teens_ \-- had changed since the last time he had last made this way, though none made him nostalgic.

Stiles had never been officially diagnosed as suffering suffer from an intermittent explosive disorder, in fact; but considering that his first episode of explosive rage had ended in the death of his guitar teacher, Mr. Linus- professionals had decided that sending him there for the meantime would be for the best. As for the subject of discussion himself: he had only been able to tell about the constant itchy restlessness that was normally associated with ADHD, although as a stimulus his brain filtered out of his consciousness -- much like the brain ignores the sight of the nose -– it just might be the reason he did not notice any other symptoms that could tell about something beyond that.

Overall, spending time in an environment of the farm, away from his town, had left a good impact on him that no other kind of therapy had ever done, especially as he had been in the early stages of grief. The staff itself had been aware it had been only a few months since his Mother had passed away, and had treated him well, too.

And still, returning there, even if out of his free will, was not that thrilling, as it had been an even stronger of a reminder for the incident so many years prior, just as much the sight of a guitar.

That was why he did not expect a smile to grow so fast on his face when he entered the main administrative building, even at the sight of an old friend.

“Pholly, man!” Stiles waited for the receptionist to round the table so he could hug him properly. “Good to see you, buddy! Although I’m sorry for meeting you here of all places. I know it’s not the best place to catch up at, frankly.”

Pholly shook his head. “That’s cool, man. I know what you mean, but I don’t really mind. I owe this place a lot, including being a workplace where no one judges you because of some idiotic mention in the CV.”

Pholly had been the only kid Stiles had befriended during his stay at the Farm. They had stayed in touch as well after Stiles had left, talking with him from time to time through Skype, and even played online games together. He was a few years older than Stiles, and had had a hard crush on one of the other boys on the Farm, which he had talked about half of the time. It had made Stiles question this feeling of nervousness while looking on some other boys, especially with a particular Hale kid he had sometimes spotted around town, with eyes that did not leave his head for days.

“Well, I guess that’s a very good point,” Stiles had to agree. “Still, I didn’t think that you’d want to continue coming here once you’re legal and basically a free man.”

Pholly shrugged. “Better than being at home with my family, that’s for sure. I always have the animals if I ever get sick of those fake smiles that wander around. Wanna grab something to eat?”

 “Yes, please,” Stiles sighed. “I’m _starving_.”

“There’s an hour before lunchtime would start at the cafeteria, but we have some sandwiches in the common room. What happened, by the way?” Pholly pointed at the leg Stiles clearly tried to shift as much weight away as possible.

“Oh, just some training injury, don’t worry about it,” Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “The only pain I feel right now is the lack of food in my stomach.”

“So, have you found the bee to your bird already? How’s it going with that girl you’re delusional about?” Pholly asked him as he started to lead them to go through the corridor.

Stiles groaned and shoved him on the shoulder.

Pholly laughed. “I don’t say you don’t have a chance with her! All I’m saying that you don’t have a chance together because it has stopped being a crash a long time ago, and now it’s just some kind of obsession you’re too stubborn to give up on. Being in a relationship with her will just overwhelm you too much, and that’s not healthy at all.”

“Well, guess what? There hasn’t any other girl that been born, or even _would_ be ever born that would be more ideal than Lydia. And all the times I’ve tried to find out if I’m attractive to gay guys, I’ve never received a proper answer either. It’s like my love life would always be unreplied, no matter what I’d try to go after. Unless you will be my salvation and tell me, as a gay guy, if you find me attractive?”

Pholly did a once-over to him and shrugged. “You’ve certainly worked out.”

“Yeah, but does that make me _attractive_?” Stiles stopped at the doorstep, waving his hands in the air in expectation.

The universe was just too evil to install at any human being the ability to answer him that question, though, and to Stiles’ dismay, Pholly just started showing him around instead.

“Sometimes I sneak treats to some of the kids, of course,” Pholly told him, “so, really, you can take whatever you like and nobody will give- Wait, no, everything besides _that_.”

Stiles blinked at him, holding a grape soda can.

“Sorry, but for some reasons, the management here is _really_ possessive of those, and only those who work here full-time are allowed to use them. I think some even go as far as _counting_ it, like they are the real ones to need to go to a rehab. I mean, what’s with the cheap alternative that’s so much better than a brand anyway?”

“Oh, come on, the cheap ones are always the ones with the most sugar! I’m super thirsty and it’ll go together so well with the sandwich!” Stiles begged. “They’re not gonna fire you over _one_ can! I’ll even leave enough money for them to buy another one!”

Pholly bit his lips. “Alright, but we’ll have to take it outside. And be _quiet_.”

Stiles’ fist-pumped with the hand that was holding the can, which slipped from his hand in the process and was very close to reaching the ground before Stiles managed to catch it in time.

“Sorry,” Stiles whispered with a grimace, as his friend slapped his forehead. “But thanks, Bud! I always knew you’re the best!”

They went outside and walked to the stable, which was currently empty from patients and guides. They made it pretty fast, though, and so Stiles had to wait for a little before he could open the can so the beverage would not spray out.

“So I guess the reason you wanted to meet here -- besides witnessing once again in real life the holiness that is me, of course -- was because you’ve been into _the red_ again,” Pholly said, while using a sarcastic tone as he mentioned the term the professional staff used with the teens instead of _rage eruption_ or _outburst_.

Stiles had never understood that method, as using an ornate, plain way to describe those moments did not help either of the assaults he had unleashed to make any more sense for Stiles.

Stiles swallowed slowly. “Yeah, there was- something, yeah. He’s alright, and after help from his, well, friends, we’re at least able to stay in the same room together. But he didn’t really forget about it, and neither did I.” Stiles sent a hand to pet one of the horses’ head, who retreated before Stiles had a chance to do so, almost snapping at Stiles’ fingers.

Pholly huffed at him. “There’s no point in _forgetting_ it. They said a lot of shit in the time I was, you know, in that other side of the fence, part of the people- but one thing that really got into my head was to learn from mistakes. Like Yuri right here.” Pholly patted the side of said horse’s neck. “He isn’t really into anything metallic, he’s one of those horses who can get creeped out by buckets. Whatever caused it to him, learning from his mistakes, he wanted you to stay away. Both of you will always remember this, but it doesn’t mean he won’t let you ride him like he lets kids who are less careful with him. It was not easy and took some process, but hey- who says that triggers are unmovable barriers, where all you need to do is to remember to finish off your drink whenever you come visiting Yuri, right?”

Stiles’ mouth curled into a little smile.

Pholly had been the one to make the greatest impact on Stiles during his time there, changing what started as a painful event of being forced to go away from home into something much more pleasant. He had helped Stiles figure himself out better than anyone else, and the first to know Stiles’ case was different than the other kids on the farm. His grief over his mother might have dragged him to a much darker place if it had not been for his bits of advice.

But could he really do it, something that only proved to work with a horse? It made sense as long as Pholly was talking about it, but how could he cease someone to look at him in the same way he looked at Peter?

Another head popped from beside Yuri, testing Stiles’ hands curiously.

“See? Even Ness here came to show his approval.” Pholly ducked down to collect straw for the second horse.

Coming back to the farm was indeed as calming as Stiles had hoped it would be, until he realized he had no time to enjoy that.

“Do you know anything about the weird attacks that happened here recently?” He asked Pholly.

“It’s not really weird anymore when you just figure an animal literally lives to destroy everything. I don’t know what’s going on with it, but what’s for sure is that no one here can compete with the chaos that beast makes. It’s like a train that went out of control. Still not as evil as my ex, though, that fucking cheater,” Pholly sighed.

Reminded of things that bubbled up, Stiles decided it was finally the right time to open the can with the carbonated drink.

As soon as he removed the pull tub, the beverage indeed did not spray -- or made any fizzy sound at all, weirdly enough -- but it was the agitation he had feared of came from the horses, who immediately started freaking out.

They neighed loudly and kicked their stall hysterically until two eventually broke free through the door- the same one Pholly was crouching next to. Ness shoved Pholly to the ground when he tried to block him, and the other ran over him.

“Shit!” Stiles sat beside him on the ground, trying to check on him. “You’re hurt?! Pholly, talk to me!”

Pholly smiled weakly. “So it wasn’t just a drink.”

“Dude, who cares! Come on, let me see where were you hurt!”

“I’m okay,” Pholly claimed, though he winced so much that he could barely open his eyes. “The guides will be here soon, and so will the Boar, if I understood it correctly. That was what they were doing this entire time, they found what lured it here and kept it hidden.”

Stiles swallowed, feeling as though he just opened a Pandora’s box.

The Boar was the subject of Stiles’ fourth Labour; apparently, it was terrorizing the little town up the hill for quite some time, without anyone being able to shoot it down. At first he thought it was the same one which was known as the Calydonian Boar, which Artemis had once sent on humans, and so Stiles had been worried that there had been deterioration in the treatment toward the animals in the farm; but if Pholly was right, then it did not look like it were the humans who the animals were upset about. 

Only Stiles had craved so much to be able to speak with someone who could understand him, that he let himself forget all about his bad luck and let himself socializing for that much longer before getting down to business straight away, with only less than a day left it to complete what he his assignment.

He was so damn _stupid_.

“You have to be quick,” Pholly grunted, now looking right at Stiles. “It might be a great chance to catch it. That’s why they called you here for, isn’t it?”

Stiles could do nothing but staring back.

Pholly huffed again. “Why do you think this place is such a success? I’ve been here enough for them to tell me why they chose a Centaur as a logo, and it’s not just for the aesthetics. They have years of experience in training supernatural beings to control their anger.”

It looked like Stiles had been surrounded by the supernatural far more than he had thought; but if it was unexpected to know to learn about Deucalion’s connection with him, then Pholly also being in the know was completely shocking.

But Stiles did not have time to think about it, neither about the mystery of who were the ones to suggest to send him to that specific farm, of all places. He could not let himself be distracted by a flow of questions with the monster of the loose, possibly on its way to their very location.

“Weapons won’t work against it,” Pholly noted. “Why don’t you have equipment on you to carry anything in the first place? You’ll never be able to run like that. Anyway, use the soda- if the horses got scared by it like that, I think it means that it’s the scent that attracts the Boar.”

Stiles nodded in understanding.

“Now stop worrying about me and go, you idiot, I’m not dying. I still have too many guys to fail to seduce. I’ll be okay.”

Stiles forced himself to smile, and needed to use even more force than that in order to tear himself from the side of a good friend lying on the ground, who was too hurt to even sit himself up.

If he did not get to the Boar in time, it might be worse than this anyway.

Stiles took the almost empty can that he dropped to the floor during the mess, and hurried out of the stable.

Stiles had not looked around enough to notice before the point, but when he looked at the farm’s fence he could tell it had been rebuilt, and was much thicker than it had used to be. It seemed high enough to block at least an average-sized boar, yet it had clearly not bothered the monster he had to face, as a few metallic supporting parts were twisted or even completely displaced in a way that showed it had been successfully broken through.

It was surprising to see that it was the horses who it caused a problem to, as instead of running away, out of the farm- both runaway horses both decided to run together straight to his direction, looking too aggressive to intend to simply pass by him.

What was wrong with this rehabilitation centre that everyone but its actual patients suddenly turned mad and went wild?

Stiles stopped at his place, and put the can on the ground, between his leg. The moment the horses were few meters away from him he stepped forward with his arms being stretched to the sides, blocking them both with a clothesline to each.

He felt bad as both otherwise noble animals simultaneously fell to the ground, but had to keep going ahead without looking back.

He picked up the can, and a quick sniff of the liquid inside the can was enough to make him want to puke. No wonder the horses hated him so much about it; and to think he had been about to _drink_ it at one point.

He used the gape in the fence to get out, and went down the hill to get to the bottom of the other one, where the preserve was.

There were some picnic benches at the entrance to the forest, and some of them made it look like a birthday party had taken place there not long ago, with colourful decorations all around the area, and even what seemed like a fake-snow machine.

He had no idea what to expect from the Boar, but going to face him with only can in his hands felt too weird for him.

First, in order to heighten his chances to find it in the first place- he knew he had to get the scent on himself. Holding his breath, he poured every little drop left of the liquid all over himself.

It was hard to not faint on the spot, but he still pushed himself to take the party machine -- since it was the hardest thing around -- and started climbing up.

The way up was full of broken traps and torn remaining of clothes. Stiles was shaken as he observed it all, not being able to believe it was all his fault- all because of a cold-blooded Deity as Hera hated him that much.

Life had to mean so little for immortals, and still- why making so many innocence pay the price for her suffering? They had had absolutely nothing to do with Stiles.

He was so busy with disgust that he noticed the steps making their way in his direction with an ominous speed almost on the last moment. His eyes caught the sight of a huge, dark and hairy figure heading towards him- all being led by long tusks which were directed right at him.

As glad as Stiles was that the Boar found him, he would have preferred if it was not at such an incredible speed.

His instincts told him that the machine will have no effect on the beast, considering its size and the speed it was running down to him -- and barely any kind of actual weapon, just as Pholly had told him – and so he decided to throw it away just mere seconds away from the clash, getting into a stance with bending knees instead, and heart already hammering in his chest.

Once it reached him, Stiles gripped it by its tusks, but did not have to slip back for much longer before he found his balance again -- making sure to put most of his weight on his uninjured leg -- and began pushing the massive beast to the opposite direction.

The Boar snorted loudly, unpleased- but even giving all its power into it could not do enough against Stiles’ strength, even with his back and one of his leg hurting like hell. The tusks began to crack along the increasing shrinking, pained sounds that the monster was making, until eventually one of them was broken into a half and detached from its place.

The look of it made Stiles so sick he almost fell right into the beast’s jaw, but he did not let himself give up.

He joined his now free hand with the one who was still holding on what was left of the other tusk, and threw the Boar to the air.

The moment the creature landed it did not waste any time, though, and was quick to jump right back to its feet with panic snorts. This time, though, it was running away from Stiles.

Stiles knew he would never be able to catch up, not even with two healthy legs. He started making his way back to the farm, planning to use the rest of the cans to try to at least attract him there- when he heard a heavy movement behind him. Turning around, he just managed to spot the Boar from the opposite direction he had run to. As soon as Stiles made a step towards it, the creature turned back in the direction it came from, and started running once more.

The Boar was actually circling the mountain; Stiles could not believe his luck.

Stiles went back up, and ran to the direction the Boar was headed to, taking the snow machine with him. Fortunately enough, the wireless machine still had power in it when he turned it on, and ingredients to create a snow-like foam when he gave it a try, and he hoped that his idea would work.

He waited for a while for the monster to come, but there was no sight of it, or even any indicating sound either. Confused, Stiles kept walking in the direction the Boar was supposed to approach from- until he noticed a movement in a thicket nearby. With lack of real weapons on him, he tore a heavy branch out of a tree, and threw it into the hideout spot.

The heavy-breathing, clearly exhausted beast came out of it almost immediately, only its movements were now much slower than before- which gave Stiles enough time to prepare the machine and shooting a fake snow to the ground, hoping for the best.

Fortunately, it indeed worked on the creature -- which with every passing moment proved more and more how dumb it was, compared to its speed and strength -- which slipped all the way to Stiles, who punched the Boar’s head with all the power he could gather, knocking it out.

Stiles started to feel the damage that the running had done to his injured leg, but the real reason he fell to his knees was lying before him.

He could not help himself from feeling with his own hands that the Boar was still breathing. It may have looked monstrous, but they voice it made were not that different than any pig Stiles had heard daily during his stay in _Chiron_ farm while treating them.

He thought about the two horses he had left there, lying on the ground, possibly with some broken bones themselves -- he had barely paid attention to just how much power he had used, which he could not justify, no matter how much pressure he had been under -- and the more the picture of the horses’ possible state got worse in his mind, the harder it was for him to control his gagging reflex.

After a couple of minutes, he heard steps of people approaching him- who turned out to be two Deputies.

“You want to tell me you did this with a party foam machine?” One of the policemen wondered, as both of them observed with shock the fainted, covered in fake snow monster.

Somewhere in his mind, Stiles was aware that there was something incredibly insane and absurd about the situation, but his nausea and general by all the sight he had to walk through Pholly, the horses, the signs of people's attempts to battle the Boar that he was too serious to care about it.

“I don’t know for how long it’s going to stay out,” he said to the two. “We need a cage, or at least the biggest sack we can find, as fast as possible.”

While one Deputy stayed to take notes, the other one returned eventually with a net, and all the presents gathered together to put the unconscious monster inside.

After finishing tying it as tight as possible, the Deputies let Stiles go surprisingly fast, which had to do with the way he smelled, more than any other reason. Hopefully, that stench was not as effective for a long term as skunks’ spray.

Stiles met some of the management back at the farm. They indeed knew who he was and that he had been sent there, which explained how Gerard could be reported about all of this. The so-called grape soda turned out to be water with a few drops of the oldest Greek wine that was ever found, back from the Greek Empire times. It had been brought to the town by an enthusiastic collector, just a few days before the Boar had been attracted to the town, probably after that very aroma.

He met Pholly just as he was brought to an ambulance. From what the paramedics diagnosed, the most severe damage he suffered from was a concussion of a low degree of severity, and any other harm was minor- but Stiles’ mood still did not get any better.

The horses turned out to be okay, too, and it seemed that everyone believed that they had been attacked by the Boar.

As much as Stiles was eager to get back home, he eventually had to wait an extra hour, since the driver of the first bus that he tried to take refused to let him in.

Between the curses he sent to the world in general, he could not help but rewind the events of that day over and over again in his head.

He was glad that the Alpha Pack problem was through, as the emotional weight of everything he had been through that Labour alone filled the empty space that had been cleared away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/170078806556/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-10)


	11. Chapter 11

It turned out that news pass between sheriff departments much quicker than Stiles had assumed.

He was supposed to call Derek so he would come pick him up from the bus station, but a text from his Father a half an hour away from Beacon Hills changed the plans.

It was better, in some way, as Stiles felt somewhat less awkward to ask him to bring him a coat so the stench and the dirt would not stick to the vehicle.

They had to drive home with all the windows open nonetheless, although the good news was that Stiles’ “idiotic-brave” acts -- along with, and perhaps _especially because_ the humiliation he had gone through -- were enough for his Father to cancel his grounding.

Another possible reason for it was his inability to drive himself – and on a manual vehicle in particular, on where both of his legs had to be active – which surely made his Father figure he would not be able to go anywhere anyway, and by that prevent continuing traumas of finding even more scary letters under Stiles’ pillow.

Doing something far from possible, yet not entirely impossible -- at least when you looked at it in a logical way -- could as well be Stiles’ life motto, though.

And so, the next day, even though it may have been one of the most dangerous things he had done, including all the monsters he had taken on- he drove on his own to Derek’s place.

Driving at a slow pace, he made it to Derek under not that much longer of a time than usual. It had not been entirely comfortable, and yet it had not been that much harder that would make him want to avoid making this length of a way daily.

Because there was _no way_ he would give up that easily about the promise he had made with himself regarding Derek and his pack. Derek’s pack’s life-threatening problem may have gotten rid of, but he sensed they still had too many problems within themselves to be ready for the next expected threat.

Furthermore, staying at home meant letting his injured leg rest even less, as rolling in the bed while driving himself crazy from doing nothing seemed much less of an ideal option for his healing process, even if it had just gotten worse by the Labour from the day before.

He swallowed, though, when he stopped at the beginning of the stairway, suddenly questioning the last thought, and stared at it for a couple more seconds before deciding that he could leave the method of bouncing the entire way up to worse days.

He slowly took step by step, but he did not get too far before Cora’s head peeked from the last level.

“If you _think_ you can come here without taking a shower first -- ”

Stiles gaped at her. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve washed my hair _three_ times since yesterday! And even put more hair gel than usual!”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, shame it doesn’t help at all.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “Look, I deeply apologize for your Werewolf nose, but you have to be more considerate and overlook it -- _oversmell_? Whatever -- especially with all those times where _my_ senses got to suffer! First my ears, from all those ridiculous growls, and then having you bleeding over me over and over again -- ”

She sighed. “I’m already being considerate by telling you to go away before you make all the way up here, so don’t try to test my patience before I come down and -- ”

She cut herself suddenly, raising her head like she was listening to something. Then she rolled her eyes, and her head disappeared without any word, which Stiles sook as an affirmation to keep going.

Stiles hated more than ever his slow pace- knowing himself, once he got up he would forget everything he wished to reproach her about, regarding her rudeness.

Sure enough, the moment he made it to the Loft’s entrance- the unexpected presence of Boyd and Erica in the Loft shook him out of any thought he had had.

“Did my Dad actually decide to dissolve the restraining order?” Stiles asked, astonished.

Erica shrugged from her place by the big table. “Not as far as we know. But look who’s talking- you’re grounded and yet you’re here too.”

“I did good enough of a job yesterday for him to cancel it,” Stiles smiled proudly.

“Are you sure he did not just decide to punish _us_ instead?” Derek asked from his position from the sofa, where he was reading a book with his back to him.

“Oh come on, you love it when I’m here, if it’s just so you can irate me.”

“Surely not when you smell like that.” Cora covered her nose as she was making her way up the stairs to the upper level of the Loft, not feeling even a little bit uncomfortable to show her repulsiveness.

“Now you’re just overreacting, with them as proof,” Stiles called after her, gesturing at the other Werewolves who were still able to stay on the same floor with him, even though she did not care enough to look at him. He groaned and faced Erica again. “Anyway, don’t you think it’s a risky place to meet at, unless it’s an emergency?”

She checked her nails. “Oh, right, because I’m _so_ going to be busted by my dear parents, the same people who did not even mind to actually search for me themselves and let the Deputies to do all the dirty work. They probably still doubt that the _innocent_ _daughter they know_ have anything to do with Derek to begin with,” she added with a

Stiles remained quiet, uncomfortable at being in a lack of words. He had always been jealous of other kids with parents who gave them the freedom to do whatever, but only at that moment realized the misery when it goes too far.

Erica seemingly focused so much on her anger that it took a while before she noticed that claws grew over her nails. She sighed while retreating them, and made a small smile while glancing at Stiles again. “You better have your laptop in your bag.”

Stiles snorted. “Is that how you know me, Erica, really? If anything, today I brought something better than a film to celebrate both of our achievements!”

He put his backpack on the floor so he could get out one of his PlayStation controller and show it off to the rest.

This defiantly caught everyone by surprise, but the best thing was the growth of the smile on Erica’s face. Stiles had never talked to her about it, but he could recognize a gamer when he saw one.

Derek, as usual, preferred to stick to his book, so it was only Stiles with the three Betas. Even Cora grew bored of her own stubbornness and came down to play with them, although she kept pulling a face like she cannot get used to the smell unlike the other Werewolves- as expected according to the Hale way.

When the turn for the round of Isaac versus Stiles came, Stiles was sure it was obvious that they would automatically skip it, and therefore it almost stunned him completely when he saw Isaac turning his head to his direction, looking at him expectantly as he was sitting in front of the screen.

“Um,” Stiles murmured.

“What?” Isaac questioned the situation like it was nothing.

Stiles sat beside him hesitantly. “Well, even if you’re planning on humiliating me, I guess I’m just happy that you decided to put it all aside enough to do it _that_ way. I mean, I can get how hard it had to be to accept me here again, but - “

“ -- I don’t know about that.” Isaac shrugged. “But it does remind me of something, frankly.”

“Really? Of what?”

“That I don't even care about whatever you think at all. Can you tell me again why am I listening to all of this?”

It was the first time, since Stiles had attacked him, that Isaac snarked at him without any toxic meaning behind it; he did not mean to cause qualms, but simply getting a rise from it. It was still delivered too much coldly to consider it as a friendly remark, but at least Stiles knew that they found again their own way to connect, which was an improvement than how it had been before.

Even though Stiles was all about bantering relationships, with Isaac it had been different because his comments always intended to actually nag you, instead of just being a challenging sarcasm. Before the incident, Stiles had kept swallow it all and pushed it to the back of his mind, but in the end, it had bothered him in a serious, very real way.

And so, it was that once Isaac made that one wrong comment, all that rage had quietly, partly-unwittingly boiled inside of him just erupted at once and-

No; there was no excuse for his behaviour.

He looked over at Derek, who suspiciously smiled over his book. Stiles licked his lips, all the worry in his heart suddenly melted away, and the hesitation was replaced with a smirk.

“You know, just checking you’re ready to crawl to your Alpha’s lap once I finish with you.”

“Are you sure it’s not you nowadays who runs behind his back, to let him finish the work for you?”

Stiles found himself gaping for the second time within the same hour, even more so when Isaac reached his controller and pressed the _START_ button for him.

He was _so_ going to show this bastard that gamers are not to be messed with.

-

The day had passed fast, with Derek going out at some point for an hour and so, then returning with a takeaway and a television. Just the normal, daily errands, though it meant that he paid attention enough to notice the inconvenience of playing on the laptop.

He arrived back at perfect timing, when they were all too fed up with the game- and they helped connect the screen right after finishing eating so they could finally watch a film properly. Even though Derek did not watch the film with them, only the teamwork that led to that was a progress of itself in Stiles’ eyes.

When it was time to call it a day, Erica accompanied him when he made his fast-as-a-snail way to his Jeep.

“I think I’ll bring my Xbox tomorrow, too,” she shared her plan with him, “even though I don’t have any two players games.”

Stiles dismissed her concern with a shake of his head. “Anything is fine- we can just compete in getting the highest points in different levels. But save some for me for Sunday, ‘cause tomorrow I have to start getting prepared for the next Labour. It’s going to be here in Beacon Hills, for a change, so I’m using this chance to inspect as long as I can instead of going for it right away.”

Erica widened her eyes at him. “So fast? At this rate you won’t have any healthy part of your body left to go through all that is left!”

“Trust me, this one should be the easiest- even if the weirdest.” Stiles started wondering yet again about the next strange place he had to be sent to, until he almost landed his feet on the next step in a very dangerous way because of the lack of focus, and pushed those thoughts away for later. “Anyway, the good news is that after this one I’ll be halfway through this shit, and have plenty of time to rest while kicking your ass in whatever game you’ll bring.”

Erica snorted. “You mean like today?”

Stiles grunted. “ _Especially_ because of today. Are you sure you’re only an Xbox girl? It’s like you spent all of your leisure hours doing nothing but training, with this game in particular!”

Erica raised her brows at him, and Stiles almost fell the entire way downstairs once it dawned on him what he had just said, considering her lonely times.

“Shit, I didn’t mean- I mean, I _did_ mean something, and it was close to _that_ meaning, but I didn’t mean to bring it out like that so it could also mean- not that I should have said anything at all no matter what my original meaning was -- ”

She silenced him with a raised finger, which she subsequently used to close his mouth by pushing his chin up, and looked at him closely. Something about that situation gave him a bad déjà-vu of the time she hit his head with a part of his Jeep’s carburettor, which he deserved to be hit with at that moment just as much as he had back then, when he was affected by... _certain cuts_ in her clothes.

“It’s okay,” she finally said in an amused tone, laughing softly before she renewed their walking. “I can finally say that I’m glad that we’ve never spent time together, before all of that. Back then, you couldn’t have appreciated me for who I really was, because I would’ve tried so hard to be another person for you. Although, right now, I’ve become better than all of that, with how I’ve changed _after_ the bite.”

Stiles cleared his throat, still feeling ashamed by what happened a moment prior, and the subtle mention of her old crush over him -- which he had never noticed -- did not make him feel any better. “Well, I’m really glad, too, even though I wish it wouldn’t have come with such a price.”

Erica hummed. “Yeah, being hypocrite sounds a little bit better than getting kidnapped, in hindsight. And it could be nice to be that someone to beat your butt once in a while, teach you to not get over-confident just because Scott isn’t on your level. But as long as we got the point we are at today, I regret nothing.”

Stiles smiles. “That only proves that, then. Even when I try imagining you going that way, I can’t see you turning up as something else than what you are now. You’ve always had this badassery in you -- and I’m not talking only about your kicking other’s asses, but about the aftermath of loses too – you just waited for the right thing to light it up.”

Erica turned around to face him at once, almost dramatically, and the smile that had been already on her face grew into a bigger, more intimate in a way one. “Boyd told me something similar, back at the vault. I remember crying half because someone saw such an awesome thing about me even when I was in such a shitty state, and half because I thought I would never be able to show it off as much as I wanted to.”

Stiles made the rest of the way to her, and bumped their shoulders together.

“As if I would give them the chance to prevent you from leaving your mark properly.”

Erica bumped his shoulder back. “It’s all better not be sweet talking because of before.”

“Nah, I learned my lesson not to play any games with Cat Women like you.” He made it to the next step, continuing their headway.

Erica huffed. “But seriously, tomorrow is going to be difficult without you here. We’re gonna laze around until Derek will have enough and force us into those training of his, and then I’ll have to go home much earlier to see those stupid faces of my parents.”

Stiles stayed quiet, letting her spill it out at her own pace.

“You know, when I returned home they did not know what to do with me. We were just sitting awkwardly in the living room for who knows how long, and when they finally talked it was to ask when I’ll be ready for a therapist to talk with. Can you imagine that? They were given days off of their work so they could support me, which is more attention they had to give me ever since I’ve learnt to take care of myself- and they don’t even know how the fuck to handle me, when they can’t just let their credit card to take care of it. All because they don’t have the tools to deal with what I’ve been through; who needs those damn tools? I just want affection, something that will make it worthy to fight so hard to return to them.”

Stiles felt incredibly sad hearing about this, but knew that telling her he was sorry would not really console her.

His dying Mother had spent her last moments of sanity trying to battle the illness that had made her wishing for Stiles to begone, and in a way, especially after everything he had learnt about himself- he would also know he deserved it, whether it was his fault or not. How could parents as hers exist in that same reality, and having a fantastic girl like Erica being born to them?

“I only communicate with them through texts ever since then,” Erica continued. “I _know_ they are worried about me, but the fact that they don’t protest about me not doing more than updating them that I’m at friends’ only shows that they’re more relieved than happy that I’m fine. That’s why I came back to Derek so fast- aside from the trauma of being torn from my Alpha, even if I didn’t want to consider him as mine anymore at the time.”

She looked away, but her body language showed much more than she probably led her face showing anyway. Searching for a way to turn the conversation into something brighter, he, fortunately, managed to come out with something.

“It seems like there is another guy you can’t tear yourself apart from these days.” Stiles murmured nonchalantly, and wiggled his brows at her once she turned her head to him sharply.

She barely minded his injuries when she pushed him to the wall, then gestured to him to be quiet, but the improvement in her mood was clear on her face.

Once they reached his Jeep, she gave him a long, meaningful hug before returning back to the Loft. It felt good, but as someone who rarely started to care about someone all of a sudden, it was hard for Stiles to understand what it made him feel.

Eventually, he came to a conclusion that it had been something close to a sense of triumph- having someone being in contact with him out of their own will, for the fun of it, and not just because there was someone else in the picture that got them together.

Situations as such had been such a rule of life for him that he refused to consider it as something that put him down, at least when it did not happen with Lydia.

It had been a while since he had her in his mind, he suddenly realized- he did not remember the last time he had thought about Lydia, which usually happened frequently, even when he did not see her for the whole summer.

He obviously had had a lot to deal with lately, without much time to cool it off, but even _Derek_ appeared in his thoughts more than her, so just what was up with him?

Well, in this weird dimension he had woken up in, where he had been challenged by a hot girl into a one-on-one video game battle, just a few days after defeating a mythical boar who had terrorized a very real town- it seemed like anything could happen.

-

When Stiles had received the address of the next Labour, he had had to reread it a couple of times.

Despite the suspicion he had had before, he had never let himself consider a possibility of the fraud to go _that_ far.

Working as a veterinarian, in the most innocent-looking clinic that anything could happen in it under the Sheriff’s nose- but _of course_ Deaton was dealing with the Deities that whole time.

Once Stiles arrived at the veterinary, he searched through the entire area thoroughly, looking for anything new or suspicious before he got into the building, where, very uncharacteristically and creepily enough, Deaton was waiting right behind the counter- even though it was Saturday morning, out of working hours.

“It sounds like you spent quite some time outside before you decided to come in,” he smiled at Stiles like there was nothing wrong in the world, once he entered the building itself.

Stiles laughed uncomfortably. “Well, you see, our ol’ pal Gerard here decided to amuse himself a little by playing jokes on me, like telling me I should come here to do some favour to you, as part of my _Labours_. Bizarre, am I right?”

Deaton just kept his smile on his face, and Stiles felt like he was losing his mind. “As much as I’m truly worried about the condition of your leg and back- I had to say yes to his request. This is not a favour I’m doing for him- I preferred to give you the chance to do a Labour for someone trustworthy, in a non-dangerous place. You deserve to get a medical treatment right after the activity for once, too, and I did not want him to find you something worse, or at least much more humiliating.”

Stiles blinked. “Humiliating?”

“Until now, he has given you a series of different battles against impossible beasts. As long as he cannot manage to scare you enough to discourage you from carrying on through the other Labours, as his job requires, it only makes sense that now he wants to at least destroy your pride. It could prove that you might be a warrior with amazing talent, but not a hero.”

Oh, that was just great.

But as much as Deaton’s words made sense, Stiles still could not shake away the feeling that Deaton was amused by something else, that was not necessary Gerard’s failure. Even if they were not exactly friends, they were still practically helping each other out. Stiles could not let himself be fooled by an idea of Deaton’s will to help to be stem from his sheer concern for him.

“So is that why you’ve helped me until now- you made a deal with Gerard that you can also get a slice of this, taking me to your advantage?” Stiles folded his hands. “You’ve made sure I’ll stay healthy through all those Labours so long you’ll be allowed to eventually use me for your own entertainment, while not giving a shit when Deucalion has kidnapped _kids_ , because the Deities won’t be there to protect you from him.” Stiles gaped as he suddenly had a realization. “You’re a Druid, of course you get a hard on from giving one for the gods. That’s why you won’t dirty your hands with oh-so-filthy Werewolves business until the very moment it becomes yours too. Man, I bet even Scott disgusts you, in some way, only he gives you protection. I should’ve guessed it much earlier, I mean, ever since we thought you’re the Alpha, there was this evil vibe on you that always -- ”

“ -- Are you suggesting that I wanted a part of this so it will count as a sacrifice for the Deities from me?” Deaton raised an eyebrow, unfazed by Stiles’ harsh accusations. “That is not how it works, Stiles. Sacrifices today are done the same way they have been done in the past, and will continue to remain that way. I know that because I do works for the Deities, yes, but that does not mean I don’t see it as a completely barbaric thing.” His face then hardened a little. “And though I will let you criticize me as you wish to our relationship, I cannot let you suggest that I’d risk losing Scott’s trust, to whom I got close to in a personal level, much more than someone who is simply an employee of mine- just because the one who planned to eventually kill him has made a good enough of offer.”

Stiles was indeed weak against someone showing genuine love for someone he cared about as well, and so it took a few times of him opening and closing his mouth before he reminded himself a fact to reply with, without hesitation this time. “Maybe I can suggest that, but I _am_ sure that you knew your Sister worked for the Alphas, and didn’t want to help us because you knew it meant to eventually hurt _her_.”

Deaton smiled at him again, though somewhat more carefully. “Admittedly, I was indeed aware of it, although, whereas disagreeing with her ways, I did not want to ruin her work because of reasons I knew it was for, which you will not agree to listen to right now. So, shall we stop wasting precious time and remove the stitches out of your back before we begin?”

Stiles could not believe he was going to take off his shirt and expose his injuries to Deaton’s mercy after going through _that_ kind of talk, but he did so as he had no other choice.

After they were finished, the vet led Stiles into one of the back rooms, and stood before a regular-looking cabinet full of books. He approached the shelf which carried the less number of books and emptied it completely from them, before he pulled the empty shelf itself out- which caused an effect where the cabinet moved back, exposing spiral stairs leading downstairs.

“The shelf itself instead of a book on it.” Stiles nodded, impressed. “I’ve truly never thought you had that wisecrack side in you, Deaton.”

Deaton just looked at him quietly without bothering to react, before he started stepping down the steps.

“Even as a vet, I knew I would have to require a veterinary with a proper basement for everything I cannot risk ordinary visitors to be able to see,” Deaton started to explain while they were making their way to the mysterious bottom level, “but I have to give all the credit to the Hale family for helping me make it be redesigned the original structure and befit it to that use.”

There was a door at the end of the long staircase, and Deaton opened it after tapping a security code.

“So, both Derek and Scott know about this place too?” Stiles wondered, looking around at the room they entered to. It was a restaurant-like kitchen- stored with cooking equipment on one side, and huge fridges of meat and vegetarian food on the other. Everything looked as sterile as it could be, and even though Stiles knew it was not where they were really heading to- he was incredibly curious as to why would Deaton keep a legitimate looking kitchen in a hidden place.

“No, it is one of the many stories I have yet to tell Derek regard the relationship between his family and myself- and it is still a too sensitive information for Scott to know, just like your Labours.” He took two pairs of plastic bags, from where they were hanging next to the door, and after offering one to Stiles he started covering his shoes with them.

Stiles sighed angrily before doing the same. For some reason, he was more disappointed to hear about keeping something hidden from Derek than from Scott, even though Deaton had more reasons to trust the latter.

“You know, it’s really not nice of you to keep so much information away from Derek, especially now that we’re at a time of peace and quiet- well, at least everyone but me. I know it’s not a lot to know that your family helped to build a lab under a veterinary, but-- ”

Once the door was opened, the sudden loud noise that came from inside hit Stiles in such a dominated way, that it was foolish to try to talk over it.

It was an enormous room with hay covering the entire floor, like a stable -- although without any stalls -- and water troughs scattered all over. It was full of a variety of animals, so many that it was too crowded to see the end of the place, and Stiles was amazed how the room they had entered that place from blocked all the noise.

And the smell; _especially_ the smell.

“Most of them, as you can see, are normal forest animals,” Deaton noted, “though they are still related to the supernatural world in some way or another. Animals know to sense when it is a time of instability and danger, as it is now- but only a few know how to get here, where it is the best shelter from that: they have simply followed the certain animals who are able to sense me, who would acquire a safe palace for them, as they are those who we label as legendary creatures.”

“Legendary creatures?” Stiles raised his eyebrow as he looked around, scanning through the mass of the ordinary-looking animals. “Like what?”

Deaton walked with him to an unknown direction, and Stiles followed, while trying his best to not step on dung. To think he had almost refused to use those plastic bags.

Stiles heart beat excitedly at the possibility of what he was about to see, but there was no sign for anything unusual as they stepped deeper and deeper into what began to feel more like a huge cave rather than a great basement. The animals could care less about him, as though they had more reason to be peaceful around humans here than at the forest, where they could hide, and that at least made him trust Deaton a little bit more than before. If indeed none of them is magical, and is not controlled by Deaton, but simply sense that they would feel no harm as long as he was there, then Stiles had more reasons to get jealous of having such an assurance in their lives that he did not, rather than suspecting their innocent, indifferent behavior. He started feeling guilty, too, for making so many of them looking of a hideous just because he was protecting a town that presumably did perfectly co-exist with their preserve, at least not for their favour.

At some point they stopped, and once Stiles comprehended the full picture which was revealed in front of eyes.

A napping Hippogriff was laying on the ground, being as noble as possible between all the different animals who suddenly seemed as boring and unappealing as another tree in the woods. It did not look quite like the Hippogriff Buckbeak from _Harry Potter_ , but the real thing was undoubtedly much more breathtaking than the digital animation of the creature.

Stiles felt like he lost his ability to get his voice out through his throat for eternity- not that anyone could blame him, as he had just discovered that there had been a bigger, much more awesome secret that Deaton had been hiding from Derek for all those years.

And had he been in his place, Stiles would have _so_ ripped Deaton’s throat out for that.

He looked at Deaton just in a chance he would have to bow to him, but he only looked back at Stiles in an amusement of his reaction.

“It’s very rare for me to have more than one of two creatures down here at the same time- if at all,” Deaton told him, “but now that you tend to attract and wake a lot of unfriendly beasts- they seem to be drawn to here too, preferring to hide from the increase in newfound predators rather than having to face them. It is my instinct to provide them security, and I guess I’m a little too known for being generous with treats, too.”

Stiles swallowed. “I hope that none of them understands human language, for you to expose me so loudly next to them.”

“Well, as long as you continue to kill all of those they elude from, I don’t think they would mind. Would you like me to show you more?”

Stiles stared at him with a disbelief. “If I’d _like_?! I’ll consider to give up on the rest of the Labours just for this! Let’s go!”

During the trip they were able to find two Phoenixes, a Griffin, herds of [Hippalektryons](https://www.google.co.il/search?q=Hippalektryons&rlz=1C1CHZL_enIL736IL736&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiSire1peDZAhWDZpoKHaqNBO4Q_AUICigB&biw=1920&bih=949), and even some [Pterippi](https://www.google.co.il/search?q=pterippi&rlz=1C1CHZL_enIL736IL736&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjA0aP5peDZAhXlZpoKHRVICewQ_AUICigB&biw=1920&bih=949). When Stiles had seen the [Monoceros](https://www.fromoldbooks.org/Jonstonus-FourFootedBeasts/pages/0153-b-maned-unicorn/0153-b-maned-unicorn-q90-1987x1275.jpg), he had first thought was an Unicorn, even if their features -- a mop-like hair around the neck, almost like a mane, and a face too short for horse-related animal -- was too coarse and dull to be one, or at least not as impressive as Unicorns are imagined to be.

After a while, he figured that the basement was so big that above the ground they would have been at a point a few streets away from the clinic by that point, and he asked Deaton about that.

“It is indeed a tunnel, in a way- it goes right under the actual basements of houses nearby, and if we continue a bit more, we will find the opening which leads to the woods.” Deaton gestured to the exit out of the tunnel, where Stiles could vaguely see trees through the strong sunlight that came from outside, compared to the dim light that was within.

Stiles thought of all the times he and the rest _really_ could use that shortcut from the forest into the town, and tapped his forehead with frustration. “Yes, _of course_  it does. So just how much more useful information do you hide from us just because you _cannot_ find it in yourself to help us with?”

Deaton shook his head. “I cannot risk harming something as fragile as the secretary of this entrance, Stiles. It could have made the nature even more vulnerable to Werewolves than what it has already been influenced by the Deities to be, and consequently hurt both you and Scott. I can only tell you about it now, as you are officially united with the side in you which is connected to the same world they come from. Believe me, I really wish I could have done it at much quieter times, but at least you have a chance to test the area before you commit your Labour.”

Deaton gaze was apologetic, but Stiles was less quick than usual to believe it. By that point he already had a good guess regarding what exactly that Labour would request him to do, and in case it was indeed true- it meant that not only Deaton was going to use him for his own convenience, but Gerard had agreed for that with that thought in mind. He had probably known all along that Deaton had helped him with his injuries between all of the Labours so far, and Deaton did not look that worried by the fact that Stiles might refuse to let him continue helping him.

How could he _not_ look at him right now with the kind of the cold expression he was having on his face at the moment, when everything just kept proving him that he was nothing but a nuisance to Deaton, even at times when he was trying to save the very town they both were living at?

He did not expect his gratitude, but it was still disappointing that the former adviser of Derek’s family -- and the current one for Scott -- had been someone as self-interested as he had turned out to be. Even though Stiles himself was working for Gerard, at least he could say it was out of other choices, and it was not like working _with_ him.

“So basically,” he sighed, “to clean all of this within a week, huh?”

“A day.”

Stiles stared at him in terror. “ _What_.”

“Today does not have to count, of course. But from the very moment you start, you will have exactly twenty-four hours to complete it.”

Stiles had to close his eyes so his vision would stop spinning.

He could barely absorb the _size_ of the place. How could he walk through it all, scan any little dirty corner without having time to rest for his injured leg, and even duck multiple times with his back, which the upcoming week might not even be enough time for it to fully heal for?

“Let’s get back for now,” Deaton suggested. “After you have some rest, I’ll give you as much time as you need l to look around more, I promise.” Deaton tried to offer himself for Stiles to lean on, but Stiles took a step away from him.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just stay here a while longer.”

Deaton nodded, though he did not look pleased. “I’m very sorry, I wish I could help you with that. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything.”

He finally walked away from Stiles, who let himself step outside, all the way into the woods.

The hatch was revealed itself to be made of two great rocks leaning on each other, which was hidden by a pile of rocks that were stacked to one another, which almost looked like one great rock. Most of the opening was hidden from view, like it was nothing but a hidden place for small animals, and it was impossible to see it was bigger than it seemed unless getting close enough. According to the shape of the pile, there might be a tiny waterfall which was created whenever it rained enough, that could turn the attention even more away from the space between the group of rocks.

Stiles sat on the ground, rubbing his hair. He looked up through the trees at the blue, clear sky, waiting for the rain to come washing over him to complete the pity scene.

Stiles knew he was supposed to be focusing on the search for a solution, as only the angry thought about Deaton stayed for more than a moment in his mind.

As logical as Deaton’s idea of trying to ease things on Stiles was, he still had to stay suspicious about it- especially with the enigmatic aura which always surrounded him anyway. Stiles would not have minded doing that tasks after all of the Labours were behind him, out of gratitude, but how was he supposed to believe that Deaton had not planned it all from the start? It was wrong just for the fact that it somehow suited the distorted image of a hero that Gerard and Hera had in their minds.

Should he waste that much energy on being disappointed, though, when it was just expected for Deaton to give him tools without as much as hinting him how to trick his way out of it? Giving an advice or guidance to others was something he seemed more naturally clueless about than anything, whether he seriously wanted to help or not. Even at the time he had given Stiles something as obscure as mountain ash -- to scatter around the club they had tried to trap the Kanima in -- the only instruction Stiles was sent to the mission with had been that believe-in-the-spark speech.

Stiles raised his head heavenward again, laughing to himself as he closed his eyes and tried to recreate that moment. He told himself to _believe_ that rain would fall down from an invisible cloud- so much and so quickly that it would be enough to leak into the cave and to flood it.

He was shaken out of the memory when a fat drop landed on his nose.

Startled, he glanced at the skies once again, this time to find it still blue and out of clouds, yet much darker and faded- almost misty, like it decided to condense and change upon itself to a shade of greyish-blue instead of waiting for actual clouds.

Nevertheless, more and more condensed drops fell to the grounds in a massive manner, like what was intended to be spread through the entire area of Beacon Hills decided to fall collectively on a specific point. As the drops began coming down one after another in a remarkable pace, Stiles escaped a few meters away from the area of the shower, where quickly the phenomenon was turning unmerciful, hitting the ground almost violently; the impact the drops made when they reached the ground sounded like they were as heavy as hail, while clearly still being liquid.

Stiles shifted the focus of his gaze between the sky and the now refilled waterfall on the pile of rocks for a few times before accepting he might not have a chance to get in unless he made an attempt soon. He found a great stone nearby, and carried it straight to the waterfall, where he used it to start cracking the rocky wall behind it.

The stone broke to pieces pretty quickly, but managed to leave some impact on the rock. Stiles looked down at his fist, and realized that he had no choice but to risk his hand for that.

Clenching it in self-encouragement, he raised it back and git the stone with all the strength he could gain; then once more- which was when the rock fell apart, and soon enough, all the drops that fell on the formation of rock started flowing into the direction of the opening, instead of away.

Stiles backed off once more, looking happily at his successes. As long as the rain would keep going like that for enough amount of time, it is going to be enough to create a flood inside so he could wash everything out.

Then, at some point, the animals started to run out of the tunnel one by one. Stiles just barely reached a safe spot behind the rocks, though the thick drops at his back felt like they would hurt him more than being run over by one of the creatures. At least it proved that a great amount of the water was reaching far inside the tunnel, though, but to make sure it would indeed keep going in the same rate, he stayed there so long it kept pouring down, just in case that his presence was critical for the miraculous rain to keep going

It took a while for to finally cease, but Stiles could not be more reviled, even before witnessing the outcome of it himself.

Preferring not to walk through the dirty water inside, he decided to walk back to Deaton's veterinary through the town.

He arrived at the building after half an hour or so, as he had to be as slow as he could be because of his leg. Deaton seemed surprised when he entered inside, this time being the one to wear a conspiratorial smile.

Stiles gestured with his head for Deaton to follow.

“Let’s just say that  _finally_ something came out of the spark thing you taught me back then,” he told Deaton as he waited for him to open the hidden door again.

“Are you certain? I believe I’ve felt a great presence just now, almost like Zeus himself was around.”

“Oh, um.” Stiles was a little disappointed that it might not have been him after all, but even more surprised by Zeus’ random help.

Why coming now, all of a sudden?

As soon as the door to the basement was opened, though, Stiles forgot all about that, as they both were hit by a wave of stench which was heavier than before, almost to an unbearable extent. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, they had their arms covering their faces, though it did not block most of the smell very efficiently- and only by what they could see through the slightly ajar door, it was clear they could not enter the room.

The once impeccable floor of the kitchen was now completely wet by water that kept sneaking under the door, including some stuff that the water did not quite helped to stream all the way to the drainage, and made it even harder for Stiles not to puke.

“I’ll go bring you some surgical masks, gloves and new bags for the shoes,” Deaton hummed into his hand. “A shovel will come in handy, too.”

“Yeah, you go do that,” Stiles agreed with an awkward thumb up, trying not to add to the mess with his vomit.

A few hours of a _thorough_ humiliation later -- seriously, “ _fulfilling only heroine-worthy tasks_ ” his ass -- Stiles finally finished getting rid of any little remaining dirt from the tunnel and the kitchen room. Even the floor made the extremely false impression that it was clean enough to eat from; Deaton should seriously consider hanging up a warning sign for that, just in case.

When the latter confirmed that the job was indeed done, Stiles did not even remember to say goodbye before he made his way out to the fresh air as fast as his legs could take him. He was hungrier and more exhausted than what he could remember himself being ever since his training with Coach Finnstock had been cancelled, and was more than ready to head home.

Before getting into the Jeep, though, Deaton called after him, holding a small bag in his hand.

“This is your minimum wage.” Deaton took out a stack of banknotes to show him, and then another, separate one. “And this is for the after hours, with a tip to round off.”

Stiles stared in shock at the held-out money. It tempted him, it really did, even just so he would not have to ask his Father for extra allowance all the time in an account of the gas payment which the annoyingly remote Labours had caused him to spend, but something told him it was not a very smart move to do.

He swallowed, though he could not tear his eyes off of the bag of the money. “I can’t -- ”

“ -- Doing a _Labour_ means that you have worked for me, doesn’t it?” Deaton smiled at him the same kind of smile he had talked with him about the mountain ash- it seemed encouraging, but could just as well be entertained. “You have done a meticulous job that normally would take a whole weekend for me, and all while treating it like something free of charge. The little I can do to thank you properly is to help you continue fighting your battle, without having the money issue to stop you.”

Deaton talking so freely about his financial problems did not make him feel any better. Whether it was a gesture out of pity or making a joke out of him, Stiles refused to accept from someone with such unclear motives as Deaton.

“If it’s not another part of the test, then just give it to Gerard, I’ll pick it up from him next time I meet him,” Stiles shook his head before turning to the Jeep again.

“Stiles, please hold on just a moment more,” Deaton begged. “Despise what you feel, I do not work for Gerard, I work for the _Deities_. And not in the way you think I do.”

Stiles sighed, mostly to himself. He had no idea what was stopping him from opening the Jeep’s door and just getting out of there and to never return unless it was something related to Scott. “Yeah, I got it the day you told me you’re a Druid. Doesn’t mean you have to work for _any_ of them, including Hera.”

There was a silence behind him for a moment before the reply came.

“It is more complicated than that. Druids work for the Deities out of their free will, due to their connection to nature. While I have always been connected to nature, in order to protect it and the beings living in it, I have come to circumstances where I am _demanded_ to work under them, and so has my Sister. The world of Werewolves, the one the Deities are too recent to be involved in, is the closest thing we have for salvation, but it is not the true one you will confer us. No matter how sly I may be seemed to you after what I have made you do today, _this_ is where I use your condition for my own advantages. For you is to protect your loved ones, for me is to continue to protect animals in a much calmer environment, but for the both of us- it is for Scott, who will not have to experience creatures of spark that are not Werewolves. Please, Stiles. Let me at least invest in Scott’s safety.”

Narrowing his eyes and breathing sharply, he reluctantly took the bag with the money.

Once again, Stiles finds himself weak against someone’s concern about someone important to him. Just like he had believed all that Gale had told him, against his logic, just because she had talked about his Mother with such admiration- at that moment, he found himself once again giving in to his greatest weakness which was his love for the people in his life who were the close to him the most.

The bad gut feeling did not leave him even for a while after, though. It was weird, since usually even qualm would not make him hesitate when it came to money.

He was doing as he was asked, and he took advantage of it so he would be able to continue with what he had left, so did he really have to worry?

-

A day after, Stiles received a text from Derek with a strange, random-looking number: _420149_.

When he arrived at the building, he noticed an unusual metallic shine in the corner of his eyes, right as he prepared himself mentally to go up all the way up the long stairway. When his eyes followed the direction it came from, he was shocked to realize the source of it was from one the previously broken lift, which was located at the other end of the corridor behind the stairs.

He could not believe the sight of the unmistakably new doors it had until he got close enough to touch it.

There was a button tunnel, with more numbers than the actual amount of levels in the buildings, when he suddenly recalled the message he had received earlier. Typing in the code, he almost jumped when the doors opened immediately, exposing an entirely repaired lift interior.

Stiles walked inside entirely bewildered, looking around him for a sign that it was only a prank after all, it was rare for him to getting access into a tool which could make his life easier in any way and almost got a heart attack when the lift began ascending on its own, taking him straight to the inside the Loft, as there were no buttons to require it to stop at any other level.

Stepping through the hole in the wall, he was greeted by the pack with expected whine about returning smelly from a Labour yet again -- even if it at least had gotten rid of the other stench for good -- and it took a couple of minutes before they at last explained that it was the first step of the renovation of the Loft. Along with the Wi-Fi router delivery which was expected to arrive that day, it was another thing Stiles had not believed would ever happen, even if Derek would have had time where he did not have an enemy to deal with.

But nothing surprised him as much as Erica hinting that Stiles was a great inspiration for that sudden motivation; a declaration which of course was made only once Derek was out of the building to wait for the delivery person.

“Why would _Derek_ care so much about an injury that will eventually pass?” Stiles called Erica’s assertion into question, eyes glueing to the screen where their video game characters were going at each other. “I know he only pretends, at least at most part, to hate me being here, but working that hard and spending money on something none of you really need?”

Erica snorted. “The real problem is that you’re the only one to refer to the Pack like you’re not a part of it.”

Stiles turned his head and stared at her, barely minding the easy win he had just granted to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Please don’t encourage him to be even more of a tag-along,” Isaac warned, laying on the top of the backrest of the sofa behind them- a posture which at first had made Stiles laugh at the wannabe-cool of an idiot that he was. It was even more ridiculous considering that there was just enough space between Cora and Boyd on the sofa itself, whereas Stiles and Erica both inaugurated the colourful pouf armchairs. Whether it was Derek who bought them himself or not, it had been something that Stiles had not been able to keep his opinion to himself, as he found the mere fact that they were a part of the Loft from that point on way too ridiculous.

Erica rolled his eyes, though it seemed to Stiles it was a reaction towards him rather than Isaac. “Do you really think he drives you around just out of favour for your help? That he looks after you when you get hurt or passed out because he pities you?”

Stiles licked his lips, feeling bashful for some reason, and shrugged. “The last two times I’ve fainted, it was because I’ve helped him in some kind of way- and oh my gods, I can’t believe I’m in the point where I call it the last _two times_ ,” he groaned, scrubbing at his face before getting back to the main point. “That aside, if I fail at any of the Labours, it’s gonna affect all of you too eventually, so I guess he’d help me wherever he can anyway.”

Erica sighed. “Stiles, at that night of the full moon, you’ve come to help us when you thought we all hated you, even _Peter_ was not allowed to be near, not even with Cora. All that while we were at a very, _very_ vulnerable state- traumatized Werewolves is not a joke. He could just easily ask you to guard outside instead of Peter. Instead, he let you _talk_ to us while struggling with the shift- I don’t think I could even listen to my own family if they were there. It takes something deeper than talent for non-shifter to work so in sync with an Alpha to submit their Betas down.”

“ _Or_ he wanted to scare you away from that desperately that he put you in such a risk,” Isaac suggested.

“It could just as well be the reason _you_ were there.” Stiles turned to him for a moment, just so he could narrow his eyes at him, before facing Erica again. “Anyway, how the fuck does this thing even work? Scott and I are as brothers as it could be, so I wasn’t shocked when Derek once referred to us as a pack. But isn’t it for me to decide whenever I move to another one?”

“Well, I don’t think I noticed any track of Scott’s smell on you since I came back, so.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, it didn’t work out for us to meet yet, with how much we’re both busy this summer. He tries to recover from the hellish of a year he’s had, and I simply spend more time with Derek than usual because both of ours keep being one, and even colliding in some way.”

“Even still, let’s just say that Derek would get rid of the many scent marks that you leave here, if he didn’t want anyone to misinterpret it,” Cora noted. “You’re useful, in your very own irritating way, and immediately willing to help without considering it much, so it’s valuable to have someone like you as a permanent part of us.”

Stiles nodded sarcastically. “Oh, that’s just great then. Taking advantage of humanly-nosed Stiles who can’t be aware when there’s a change in his ownership. Guess what, Scott doesn’t need to be an Alpha or being visited regularly for me to be in his pack, just like I didn’t need to be in yours to want to rescue you and help you.”

“You’re serious? You don’t want to be with us?” Stiles was taken aback by Erica’s sad tone.

There was a complete silence suddenly, which deteriorated deeper and deeper with every passing second, but Stiles did not mind it as much as the disappointment in Erica’s eyes- something he had promised himself to not let happen ever again ever since the night of the rescue, when she had clung to his lap like a lifeline.

On the other hand, she did not deserve to be cheered up by a hypocrite betrayer like himself, who was working with Gerard- another bastard who gave her a similar treatment of hostage. Even if he knew he was doing an important job, by creating moments to bring all the pack socializing together, Stiles really did not deserve the nice feeling he had by the thought of being wanted by a group of such a fastidious group of Werewolves; him, who was one of those kids to be chosen last for any activity.

“No, of course that’s not what I meant!” Stiles hurried to explain himself. “I mean, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that, isn’t it? I’m just a believer of talking it out, you know? I don’t think... solidarity, fellowship, whatever it is, should become something as intimate as a pack without making sure that both sides are good with it. And not that I felt anything wrong before you told me about it, but is it really healthy to have this Alpha thing with Derek when even during the battlefield we argue? Dude, you saw it yourself during the fight with the Gigante.”

Erica smiled in a way that made Stiles scared of the following words for some reasons.

“Well, I remember thinking, from my point of view, that he was doing that to calm you down.”

Stiles stared at her in confusion.

“When you prepared your last arrow, the broken one, you were really out of it after missing twice, and it was clear you were not focused at all for another attempt. But after he annoyed you, it distracted you enough that once he ran to this Giant, or however you call it- you shot easily.”

Stiles ran the moment back in his head- in hindsight, it had indeed helped him, but never in a million years would he imagine that it had been done on purpose. It was one thing to feel confident enough in one’s abilities to annoy Stiles out of his worries, but believing in Stiles that much that he had been risking making the situation worse while the lives of his Betas were on the line, even as a last result?

He had never asked Stiles to demonstrate his abilities before, when he thought about it. After he heard the truth in Stiles’ heartbeat when he had told about miraculously picking up a car at the age of seven, he had instantly believed he still had had enough in him.

“Well, looks like your time's up,” Isaac suddenly announced, stretching himself over the sofa to take the controller out of Stiles’ hands.

“The fuck?! Bring it back, you shit!” Stiles tried to step over the sofa to reach the retreating controller-stealer, but he made a wrong step on his leg which almost ended up with his head hitting the ground if it was not for Erica to catch him on time.

“And _how_ did you take down all those monsters on your own again?” Isaac smirked down at him.

“That’s a great finding to tell Hera- turns out the real danger in the world is assholes like you,” Stiles grunted as he sat up again, thanking Erica in a murmur for her support. He was certain that Isaac was Derek’s substitution to Coach Finstock’s training against monsters, as long as Stiles was not cleared to return.

“Not when you have Derek to defend you for everything you do all the time. I _live_ with him and he doesn’t pamper me like he does with you.”

Stiles groaned. Why were they all so sure that he had not simply become more tolerant towards him out of gratitude?

“It’s more than we can say- you can’t really complain until your surf package will be renewed,” Boyd said. “He didn’t give a shit about Erica pleading for internet when we have our houses to hang out at, until Stiles made it clear that he plans to come here regularly.”

And now even _Boyd_ thought the same. What was up with everyone?

“That’s because you always left me to beg for him on my own.” Erica shoved at his knee. “If you spoke up too for a chance, maybe we could’ve had more power to do it earlier.”

Suddenly the four Betas froze, as though they were all focusing on the same thing; then the trance was over, with Erica and Cora rolling their eyes in unison.

“Make sure your Dad will change his mind soon- at least before the meeting we’ll have on Monday,” Isaac told Stiles.

“If a smartphone is what needed to make you shut up, then I swear I’ll take care of it by all means.” Stiles smiled at him sarcastically kind and took back the controller.

They played other rounds of the game, with Derek reading by the table as always. It was hard for Stiles to not sneak a look at him every now and then, wondering about his real intentions, as weird as they were sure to be.

-

One week later, Stiles was standing on a top of a nearby hill in a middle of another random Californian forest, attempting to scare a flock consisting of hundreds of birds away from a lake, while being equipped with the special creation of no one else but the Deity of blacksmithing, Hephaistos, himself.

This is where a description of a weapon is expected, only it was no such a thing.

Of course it was not, because otherwise it would have broken the sequence of Stiles’ illogical life. Which, obviously, meant it had to be a _rattle_.

It was called a krotala, and was made of enough bronze that even a grown up human could have not used it- but for Stiles all it meant was that it was just a little bit more special of a toy than what an average baby would get.

In a way, Stiles might be special even between the small percentage of Demigods that had ever been more, if what he had been said so far was true, and between snakes and being breastfed by a Deity he did not really have the optimal, calm baby life to have time for an emotional visit by the little more friendlier of the Deities, where he would be granted with something like that; but he still did not get why Athena, one who had been there to witness at least one of those events, had decided that _this_ was the right time to show up out of nowhere and give it to the teenager -- and the _very much_ not a toddler anymore -- Stiles.

Said Deity had a short black hair, and light green eyes like those of Artemis- which made Stiles surprised by how taller the current one was comparing to the latter.

“You better tell the rest to hurry up if they want to meet me too, because I don't have a lot of Labours left,” Stiles had told Athena once she introduced herself, next to the targeted lake full of the crane-sized creatures who at least _looked_ like birds: they had metal beaks, and their feathers seemed to be as sharp as one as well- both quite useful elements to attack anyone who dared got closer to the lake they chose to relocate to and call their own after growing bored of their previous habitat.

“Others?” Athena had frowned at him with confusion.

“Other gods. I mean, technically I met Apollo over my request, but Artemis -- ”

“ -- Habitually looking for the privilege of meeting your older self on their own, these two,” The Deity had murmured to herself bitterly, as though it was a matter to be jealous of.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s because of that,” he had noted as he recalled the very distinctive interests the two mentioned Deities had shown toward him, but then had hurried to shake his head dismissively. “Ugh, doesn’t matter. Just, why are _you_ here, again?”

She had smiled approvingly, raising her hand forward. “You must have heard by now of my act of salvation, in which you have returned to your Mother’s arms right after. Since it might come in handy again, I wanted to take that chance to at last bestow you what I could not have done during your infancy, due to our hasty escape back to the mortal world from Hera’s hands.”

It had been then where, out if the thin air- the bronze rattle had appeared upon her palm.

When she explained to him that this was the solution for the competence of his Labour -- driving away the birds which looked more thirsty for blood than the water of the lake they had occupied -- Stiles followed through just to please the Deity. It was not like he had anything better to try, as the few arrows he had brought along were proven useless against hundreds of targets.

To his utter surprise, despite everything, it worked: the rattle produced an ear-splitting sound, which had been unexpected even considering the weight of it -- which was clearly way heavier than what a normal babies toy should weight -- and soon enough, as Stiles’ strength made it possible to generate the loudest noises it could create, all of the vicious birds were flying elsewhere.

Stiles looked at Athena, who appeared beside to him the moment the last bird had ascended away from the lake, and gestured at the toy in his hand. “Thank you. Both for today, and for what you’ve done for me, you know, back then.”

Athena smiled appreciatively. “Deucalion of the current present was not the only one who saw the potential in you, after all.”

Stiles frowned at her in question, putting the rattle on the ground. “Which potential? And what does it mean this time- Oh, oh gods.” Stiles released a crazy-like laugh. “Don’t tell me time travel is a thing too?!”

Athena hummed, thinking about it. “Albeit time travel is possible at least in terms of getting back in time, the average human body would not be able to take it. But if I collect more data on you- Hm, interesting indeed. What would you need to know it for, though?”

Stiles was too overwhelmed by getting such a straightforward answer from the Deity of knowledge, that he could not make a sound for a long moment.

“Uh, I- Um. But- Didn’t you say Deucalion _of this present_?”

“Why, indeed. Are you not familiar with the first man named Deucalion to cross his ways with the Olympians?”

“Oh, oh right. He helped to repopulate the earth after the flood, like Noah from the Old Testament.” Stiles was a little disappointed that this was what she had meant, but tried to ignore it.

“Correct. He was also the son of the biggest protector of mankind- Prometheus, the first to oppose Zeus' attitude against man, with the same believes Lycaon would later retain in his heart, too. That is why Deucalion of this time chose to carry this name, as his original campaign aimed to unite man and Werewolves, creating peace between the kinds once and for all. Then he was blinded for the second time, and it was all forgotten from his heart.”

This shocked Stiles- there had been a point where Deucalion had wished for _peace_? The same man who had abused Derek’s pack in an attempt to seemingly turn them against Stiles, instead of simply talk them into it like a sane man who believes in peace would?

Stiles had never had the chance to find out what Deucalion’s exact motives had been, but Athena’s words indeed made sense when considering Deucalion’s own words to him, including his background.

Rewinding said speech from that day, he suddenly recalled an important detail, which made his furrowing brows to jump almost all the way to his hairline.

“Wait- he mentioned you; he said you _worked_ with him.” Stiles gradually entered a defensive stance, although he knew how clearly defenceless he was against a Deity. “Is that why you’re here? Because of what I’ve done to him?”

Athena shook her head, though in response to his words rather than his reaction. “Only once have I performed an act of mercy toward him. Had I known this what would become of his prophecy about you, I would have committed any necessary step against him and his naïve Mother, Chariclo.”

“So what really happened?” Stiles asked, though he did not let the tension in his body to be relieved just yet.

“Being a son of a Nymph, he has been born with the gift of foresight. At first he only had the ability of Augury- being able to tell the future from the behaviour of birds, hence his constant search after big gatherings of them. When he came to the age of seven, he ran into the very flock of Stymphalian birds you have seen today. Luck was in his hands that day, and he came out alive- only his eyes were damaged for good. False rumour fell on Chariclo’s ears, and she came to believe that I had been the one to inflict him, consequently for watching me having a shower, although I had used on a different, nearby spring that day. She approached me in her plead of mercy, and due to my fondness for her, I had done just so; albeit, by praying to the wrong Olympian, she ensured misfortunate for her offspring, thus leading him to lose his eyesight once more, some years later.”

Stiles had always found it ridiculous when the Deities in myths just let something happen, most of the times while knowing _very well_ that it would eventually lead to bad implications. But this time it was different- this time it was a real case that in the end led to very real people who he was close to being tormented and suffer.

“Why didn’t you told her right away she was wrong? Why didn’t you warn them?” Stiles demanded. He was not in an alert stance any longer, yet his body remained stiff with barely contained anger.

“Ares’ ways are his, just as my acts of goodwill are mine. Had she known about the birds and their authority, I do not find it likely that she would have acted differently. Only fools would not be dread to degenerate their condition by approaching him.”

Stiles shook his head. He had just started to being exposed to Deities’ logic outside of myth, but he was already done with it anyway.

“Ares, after all,” Athena continued, “is not only after blind, thoughtless revenge- he would achieve that in a way which would benefit him. During his last encounter of his endeavour for peace between Lycaon’s successors and their Hunters, with Gerard in their lead, he was blinded by the latter- thus activating his thirst for strife. His new state of mind of determined when one of his own tried to capitalize his susceptible condition, and seize the injured one’s rank of Alpha to himself. He managed to kill the Beta, resulting in a rise to his power.”

“I get how his mind got fucked up to the point he thought trusting other Alphas, with instincts ready to be stimulated once the territory issue is involved, was smarter than trusting his own pack, but why terrorizing other packs instead of fighting the real enemy?” Stiles’ eyes darted as he was thinking it through, until he realized the most likely possibility. “Did he want to get Derek to join him by letting him experiencing constant fear for those he is responsible for?”

The thought sickened Stiles, although he knew Derek would rather have his life taken away than taking advantage of the lives of one of any of his Betas. Sure, one could claim that he more or less had done that by deceiving them to be beaten, but even while that act could not be excusable in any way- he knew that Derek had meant to protect them, in the most honest way possible, which would have been true until the very last moment- unlike the other Alphas.

As childish as it might be to say that, especially after hearing about the previous legitimate peacemaker who had turned into the monstrous thing he had fought against back at the abandoned mall- but Stiles trusted even more the fact of numerous occasions where Derek could have -- and arguably should have -- killed him, and yet had never done so.

“Indeed, he wished for any alliance he could draw to his own circle before going to war with Gerard,” Athena replied. “After all, he could not truly conquer the territory of your town as long as Gerard and his family still alive, and someone with experience in battling against Gerard could have come in handy. But even more than anyone, he had you to feel wary of.”

Stiles swallowed. He was not sure how ready he was to feel the weight of yet another reason to feel guilty for, especially as he still had four more Labours to go.

“He had seen the Stymphalian birds as the manifestation of the Olympians, and consequently fled his home of the British Islands in fear of them. In an act of mischievousness, of course, Ares ordered the birds to come to this land as well. It is very fortunate for you to have Hera as your rival rather than him.”

Stiles nodded sarcastically. “Yep, lucky me, right?”

“Your appearance, thus, destabilized his plan and confidence. For weeks, he could not act at all, waiting for the moment you would be away for long enough to duel the other pack. Such momentous divine presence you had, that even the strongest of Lycaon’s successors was deterred.”

Stiles felt relieved that his background had helped and protected others, for a change- but still felt uncomfortable by the Deity’s choice of words.

“You seem so much more enlightened comparing to the other gods, and yet even you hate referring to them as _Werewolves_.”

“Their source should always be reminded and remained in our mind, Stiles. While they wage their interspecies wars, look how far you have reached in an account of your deeds: starting a test of pure bravery, which was followed by one which required a sense of sophistication, then its subsequences being tests of nobility, mentality strength and humble. Already on this point, you are proved to be better than them.”

“The only one who is proven here is her, and is as none of the features you’ve just mentioned. How can you justify someone who put innocents’ lives because she finds it mandatory for me to show why I’m worthy in a world that has to do more with Zeus than her anyway? Interspecies wars may be idiotic, but still make much more sense. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Werewolves, which is something that only two goddesses can be credited for, and one of them had done so in an account of her companion.” Stiles frowned. “What was your reason to help me, by the way?”

She immediately smiled and hummed, as he had brought them to the subject she seemingly was waiting for.

“Are you aware of the Apotheosis within the Olympus?”

“ _Apotheosis_?” Stiles parroted in question.

“It has only been a couple of weeks since your first acquaintance with your divinity, no wonder you are not familiar with it. But those as you, who are not destined to outlast youth, have to ensure their immortalization by means of becoming cherishable by the Olympus.”

Stiles’ heart hammered in his chest.

He was excited and terrified at once to think about it; or more correctly, of everything it could mean.

From the various myth, he knew that some of the measures by which the Deities immortalized people they find worthy to do that for included turning them into plants or stars, and some even ended as the lovers of some of the Deities (just to be cheated on countless of times, of course).

But Stiles did not want any of that, as much of an honour it would leave behind him. Was it not much simpler to get it while he was alive, where it would last for a much shorter period of time, but at least he would be concessions to enjoy it?

“Do you want me to become like Gale?” He asked. As not very fond as he was of his body, it was not to the point where he preferred to spend the rest of his life as a polecat.

“Oh, why of course not!” She quickly dismissed the idea, but then sighed at Stiles looking far from amused she was to compare Gale to him. “How can you not understand yourself how preposterous it is, to compare an act of mercy as to a hero that has never been seen before like you? You should be elevated to godhood, at least.”

And then it clicked. A Deity, who had once sworn to remain a virgin forever, had been impressed enough to come meet him personally and deliver all those praises out of nowhere. It could only mean…

“...You want to marry me?”

Athena laughed. “It is fortunate that I have the power to see the misknowledge that is in your mind, or I would punish you for being that much insolent.”

Stiles felt the blood leaving his face despite the face he had just been told that nothing would be done to him.

“What I intended to suggest, rather, is for you to permanently work for me. Just follow me to the Olympus right after you finish your duties to Hera, and the utilization of your defying will be maximized.”

Stiles scratched his face with confusion. “I don’t understand- how will that profit you, if I’m not entirely your companion?”

Athena raised her chin high. “You, the strongest of all, will receive to be placed in the same class as Hecate, with the honour of being my minion- similar to Aphrodite’s Erotes.”

Stiles did not know a lot about Erotes -- back when he had researched about Greek mythology, he had not bothered to spend more than a couple of minutes reading about it before dismissing it as an option -- yet he remembered enough to be certain that they were considered as gods themselves, even while being subjected to another.

It was one thing for Athena to want him as one of her retinues, but wanting _him_ to serve under her as a _god_?

It felt surreal, more than everything, though he knew that Athena had a good enough of a reputation to be lying about such matter.

But was it really the first time that option was mentioned to him, even if indirectly?

Recalling Apollo’s words, it felt like it had already hinted about it sometime before: _Unless you join us, I can’t tell you the secrets of our powers._ Stiles had been too preoccupied with what he had been told that day, that the weirdness of that sentence was lost under all the other thoughts he had been busying himself with at the same time.

Stiles was supposed to feel honoured about it, but especially after hearing yet again about the Deities’ lack of fucks to give when it came to the mortals they ruled over, it was an easy no.

So easy, in fact, that it did not entirely feel like a Déjà vu to the day he had been offered the bite by Peter. This time, there was no fear to drive him to lie; only anger, that guided him to speak what he was more sure than everything to be his true feelings about the topic.

“No thanks, but thank you for the offer,” he responded. He felt stupid for being polite over what he felt so strongly about, but he truly owed to her a lot.

Athena observed him thoroughly, as though trying to dig into his mind to find out the right motive to use to persuade him to revise.

“Is it right for you to belittle yourself like that?” She finally asked, as though she could not understand anything she managed to read off of him.

Certainly talking about his general insecurities, those were thoughts he had not mentioned even to himself- both because they were too obvious to waste time over it, and because he knew that the reason Athena thought it would be something simple to argue against. After all, what did Deities live for if not for their pride, which excused everything?

Stiles could not help but chuckle, as this exactly why he did not want to become one of them.

“The clouds that separate between the Olympus and out world may make everything too foggy for you to see, but strength is all I’ve got. After fighting the Lion, from my first Labour, I went through a fucking _panic attack_. Have you _heard_ of a glorified person who has ever reacted like that before, or could not function during their daily life without having them once in a while? They may be scared at first, and shed tears over their loved ones who die, but not that. And you can rest assured that it’ll surely happen to me again, the next time I’ll have to kill someone like that. Proving myself worthy through the Labours aside -- even though I doubt my personality will ever justify that -- We can’t have a god with fucking anxieties. And if it’s removed from me, then I won’t be myself anymore, and there’s no way I’d want it.”

It was not that he believed he was any better at that moment. Imagining himself with the power of a god, the things that came to his mind straight away were subjects he was interested at, and the joy of enjoying every future geeky creation for entirety; neither peace, nor justice. All that proved him to not be that much better than the current Deities, and by that quite fitting for the role, yet he knew this was not the image a god that should be contributed.

Even if Athena was fond of him, how could he become a god, if he had nothing in him which fitted to such a responsible role? Clearly, most of the Deities did not even know the definition of responsibility, and he could not take the risk his mind would change to think that way too.

He had done things that had eventually saved the day, yes- but mostly to cover the asses of those who were associated with him, especially his friends.

And all that without even thinking of his Father being left behind, of course. Only that was enough for him to treat the offer as laughable.

“It is for us, the Olympians, to decide whether you are the responsible for the competence of the Labours or not,” Athena said eventually. “However, I accept your refusal. Nevertheless, bear it in your mind that the offer remains open for the time being.”

Stiles nodded. He had to appreciate her for at least letting him have a say in the decision.

“I only have one more thing to address before I leave,” she added suddenly. “I could not know today was the right time to meet you, with all that had happened between you and Deucalion, if I have not followed you along the years. I have watched you grow and develop, and thus I know your fears.”

Even though it was obvious for her to do so, as a Deity- Stiles still felt a bit harassed by that. Just _how much_ did she watch him, even if she did not seem to judge him over anything?

“In this world, there are a lot of monsters who defy common sense,” she continued. “You might be quite a threatening being yourself, but you are no monster.”

Stiles swallowed, but did not find anything to say against it- and just nodded embarrassingly. “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

Stiles covered his eyes as she vanished out of there.

The strong bright light, along with the noise and the wind effect of it- made some of the woods’ native birds to fly out of the trees in panic. Not that they had what to complain about, now that their habitat was back for them to control over.

-

Stiles made his way back out of the forest, to where Derek was waiting for him, as he had insisted to drive him to the place due to the way being too long for Stiles’ injury.

He was sitting in a car, nose deep in a book, but even though he clearly had also spent part of the time working out- Stiles was still amazed how patient and relaxed he looked despite waiting for him for so long. It must have been something close for a break for him, though; either that or he had simply been put into perspective, after a long period where he could have that much away from his Betas for any reason at all, knowing there had been something back in Beacon Hills to worry about.

“Did it go well?” Derek asked him as he entered the car.

“Yeah- Well, you know,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “as far as _I’m_ concerned.”

Derek nodded, and the conversation ended just like that.

They did not discuss of the Labour at all, as usual. Ever since Stiles had made it clear that the subject was quite sensitive, neither he or the pack had tried to reach for information about the content of the Labours in any way. Considering they had already made an interference during the Hydra Labour, Stiles knew there was not any real reason to keep anything in secret aside the identity of his mediator, but he preferred it that way anyway. That way he could truly devote himself to the pack, while not wasting their energy and make them worry about him.

Well, Erica, at least.

This comment was something that felt like the obvious thing to say, but when Stiles was honest with himself- not only it was not her to demand the others to treat Stiles’ Labours as boundaries which must not be crossed, but even the manifestation of her affection toward Stiles had had to go through a permission process by none other than Derek.

All that made Stiles wondering if Deucalion’s desire for Derek to join his pack was indeed given, considering the Hale family reputation, according to Deaton; but after hearing Deucalion’s story, and getting the impression that the Deities were not truly too disgust of Werewolves to do something about that repulsiveness, and almost _looked for_ a way to mess with them, made him suspect that they were at fault for such destiny, more than the involvement of both of those Alphas with Stiles.

Not that Stiles could call it luck, as he did not even want to imagine what had happened during Deucalion’s visit at the Loft, when he had hinted Derek about Stiles’ Labours and had made the pack believe that Stiles was working with him.

Out of a respect for not asking him about difficulties he would rather keep to himself, Stiles did not ask anything, and instead started his usual random chatter, which would continue throughout the entire way back home.

As noticeable as it was that he was annoying the shit out of him Derek always responded back to Stiles in a way that proved he was paying attention to all the little details he mentioned. Even when they arrived already by Stiles’ house, Derek would save the threat to kick Stiles out of the car to the real moment he would have enough of him.

Taking only those two seemingly unremarkable insights into account, Stiles knew those simple rides would have been one his favourite memories from that summer- if it was not for the guilt that was going to come later.

It was that thought which drove him to finally get things really going.

After that month’s full moon passed -- which was defiantly a much less tensed time than the previous one, though while their main focus was Cora, they still had to keep an eye for Erica and Boyd for safety case – Stiles took the chance to suggest celebrating the yet another success by cooking together for a chance, instead of ordering takeouts as usual.

They all were skeptical, especially with Derek’s tiny and not very equipped kitchen. Stiles did not let that stop them, and asked Erica to help him carry kitchenware from his house, while the rest went shopping for ingredients - it somehow worked out, even if through a huge mess. Forced to be around to watch that no one do any damage, Derek was dragged into the mission too. He may not have been in the centre of things at any point, but the fact he cooperated was a start.

Then, a day after, they went to the cinema. After the film was over, Derek actually argued with Isaac about something related to the plot through the entire way to the bowling centre. It would have been the greatest point of the day, if it was not for the bet that Stiles made with him, in which Derek had to join them for an entire session of video gaming, provided that Stiles’ team wins. Thank the gods for Erica being the best bowler ever.

Stiles also made hints for him through his choices of conversation topics: while reacting louder than usual, and by that drawing Derek’s attention to them, Stiles talked with Erica about driving license- one day after,  Derek would already start practice with her; on another occasion, while fixing his Jeep with Derek and Boyd, Stiles recalled the sense of curiosity about myth which he had gotten from Boyd, and started to talk about the connection between Hecate and Werewolves, which soon developed into a talk of facts against legends, which was mostly led by none other than the laconic Boyd himself.

In the long run, it was a huge success. Derek may not fully become one of the group, as he still did not participate in everything he could stay away from- but he _tried_ much more than before, which clearly raised everyone’s moods. The Betas were finally closer to get the Alpha who only acted as one when he had to be the grown man, and even though Stiles still had no idea how to push Derek into having big brother quality time with Cora, but he had a feeling finding their common ground was something they already had to do on their own.

More than everything, though, Stiles was glad he had managed to do all of that without getting closer to Derek himself. He knew that Derek thought of him way more positively at that point, but that was how it should stay as. It did not matter how it killed him ignoring chances one after the other to get closer, the chance to work their relationship to something closer to a friendship.

He could indulge himself so long the fun helped him not breaking apart, but there was no point to develop something more serious than that when it would very soon fall apart.

On the day Peter appeared at the Loft out of nowhere, though, Stiles was going to discover a little too late that he was long at a point where it was inevitable.

“Though I’m not a tenant, I would like to make an objection to the lifts discrimination. Why does the only one that works is private to the Loft, while the password is not even shared?”

It was like the room went cold at once; Stiles would not be surprised to find that random visits from Peter were not common, nor did they mean something good.

“I thought you were off to regaining your strength.” Derek sounded entirely unfazed as he slowly got up from his sitting place, and took a few steps towards him. “Looks like euphoria affects some of us nicely, or at least makes us assume so.”

“Looks like it.” Peter’s eyes scanned Derek’s newest possessions- the television, and everything around it, before returning to Derek. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your... pack building activities. You deserve it, after defeating such an impossible enemy. Kudos on that, again.”

“You know already I don’t buy any act of flattery from you. What do you need?”

“Well besides doing my job as a good Uncle and making sure that my niece and nephew are doing fine, along with their pack -- ”

“ -- I believe you have my phone number for that,” Derek cut him in impatiently, arms shielding his chest.

Stiles held his breath in order to try withholding an unappropriated reaction. He had received that very same response himself just over a month prior, though the coldness it had been delivered with had not been even remotely close to the tone Derek was using at that moment. There had been forced self-restraint, concealability perhaps- but not _that_.

But it was Peter, after all- so it was not surprising that Stiles could not recall Derek talking to him like that even before he had had justifications to being worthy to rely on.

“I don’t really believe in technology when it comes to communication between two living beings.” Peter started stepping around the Loft, hands behind his back, as he was examining the different pillars scattering throughout the space of the room. “But that aside, I really do need any kind of exercise I can get these days, like you’ve implied. After all, who knows who will come after me next- after _us_. And oh, believe me it’ll surely be sooner than later. News like the defeat of the Alpha Pack, and being conceited enough to do so yourself, will not be accepted passively.”

Derek’s joined hands seemed to be pushed harder against his chest in tension. “Did you hear anything?”

“No, but I’m sure I will hear of the inevitable fall of your pack even before that rumour will manage to get to my ears.” Peter stopped in front of the broken wall, sliding his finger on the exposed bricks. “Forgive me if I’m underestimating your repairing skills, but looking around it seems too intact and undamaged of broken corners to be a training setting.”

“We have no reason to secretly train inside a building anymore,” Derek replied simply.

Peter turned around sharply, the friendly expression on his face far gone. “So why do the woods contain no bit of the scent of sweat, of _blood_? Why is there no shred of ripped clothes or fallen trees? It may be hot and peaceful outside right now, but soon enough it will change into a cold darkness reeking of over-complacency.”

It was clear to Stiles that the ways of precaution Peter was picturing were idiotic and extreme, and yet he knew the goal was still important in the end, which meant there was barely any way to excuse that- especially when Derek’s own pack was listening to everything, and expected him to know a little bit better compared to before, considering his successes against the Alpha Pack.

It made Stiles worried, but that feeling was proved to be in vain sooner than Stiles could ever expect, with Derek breaking the silence out of the blue when he should have been out of words.

“I’ve recently come to a conclusion that sometimes, bad pack dynamics can be more dangerous than an exterior enemy who really means to hurt us.”

Stiles felt his eyebrows shooting up. Had _Derek Hale_ just truthfully pronounced those words?

He felt like start counting his fingers, making sure this was not a dream.

But the most important thing was, of course, the fact that Derek had succeeded to turn the seemingly unnecessary over-bonding time into the very reason it was actually essential, thus finally proving himself to his pack. He knew he could not just imagine feeling some of the

To think he had accomplished so by admitting to getting the idea that _Stiles_ permeated to his mind; the Alpha’s obstinate logic actually _accepted_ that, and Stiles could not have been more content to hear that.

He did not beam at Derek for long, though- as Peter next words made his heart missing a bit, suddenly fearing for his secret.

“Even when there’s an intruder inside of that _us_ that you’re talking about?” Peter smiled right at Stiles. “I’m so proud of the wonderful job you’re doing of protecting our little town, we’re truly undeserving. But are you so worthy of being rewarded for your act of duty, that you allow yourself to come here with all of your temptations and distract them of their need to learn how to properly defend themselves?”

Once he understood there was no hint at all in what Peter had said for being aware of Gerard- Stiles relaxed eventually, and reacted by shrugging sarcastically before he responded.

“I dunno, personally I’d like to refer it as an inspiration rather than a distraction. If my main experience in battle is playing fighting video games and working on my team play during Lacrosse practices, then why not to share it? It is the teamwork spirit that helped Derek and me to defeat many enemies, after all. Like when we burnt you up alive, for instance.”

Stiles sat up straight, trying to show off how much confidence he had over his methods, and especially pride over sharing the same side with Derek.

Peter’s grin turned into what Stiles could never find a better way to describe than _wolfishly_. “Is that so? How kind of you to be so generous, sharing all that information. But I don’t think there’s any need- we are creatures of naturally hunting together, whether it’s a prey or an enemy. It is _your_ nature I would be worried about.” He started stepping to his direction, footsteps somehow sounding to Stiles nosier than before, even though they were as light as those of a predator getting closer to a target he was trying to check out more closely. “I’m a big fan of Greek Mythology myself, and from what I can sense here, it looks like your plan to emulate Zeus by endearing yourself to your object of amusement until -- ”

Stiles almost startled out of the sofa as Derek was suddenly in the way between him and Peter, releasing a mighty growl.

Stiles could feel the whole pack shifting uncomfortably around him, and even the one the reaction was directed at could barely keep a believable confident smile.

“Come back only when you have something useful to say.” From the way Derek’s voice sounded, his fangs were clearly out. “And by then know to respect the fact he is not just a recurring visitor anymore.”

With Derek’s back blocking the view, Stiles could not see Peter’s expression- but was too stunned by that turn of events to move and try to peek.

Whatever it was, though- footsteps were heard, and Peter was out of there too fast for Stiles to see something.

The silence remained for a few more moments; Stiles assumed that the Werewolves were waiting until Peter would get out of hearing range.

As Derek’s head was turned to the last point his sight followed Peter leaving the Loft, Stiles could notice that his eyes still burnt red and his nostrils flared.

It was a bit similar to times where he had protected Stiles from harm, but this time it was different- it was for his _honour_. The firmness with which Derek had done that was a kind of behaviour Stiles would not expect him to behave because of even Scott.

Could that be what the others had meant? Had he really blended in too deeply than he had planned to?

Unless it was sounded like that only because anything would be said like that when Peter drove him up the wall, which also made sense.

“That’s time for you to go home too,” Derek finally cut the silence.

“Don’t be like that, it’s way too early!” Erica protested.

“Cora, Isaac, please go take them with the car,” Derek ignored her, looking at the mentioned too instead.

Cora exhaled a short laugh. “What am I, their kindergarten keeper?”

“Just do it for me this time, please,” Derek asked again.

They exchanged gazes in a mute communication which probably only siblings could understand, and then, with a roll of her eyes- Cora walked to the big table and grabbed the car’s keys, throwing them at Isaac and turning to the lift.

The other Betas slowly followed suit one by the other, but when Stiles stood up as well he was stopped by Derek.

“Not you,” he sighed, almost like it was supposed to be obvious that Derek did not say anything to him because he wanted him to stay.

Stiles was not surprised that he wanted to talk with him, just that he wanted everyone out of the Loft in a way the usually suggested he wanted time for himself to calm his nerves down, which would have been understandable.

When the lift’s doors closed and the sound of it going down was heard, Derek finally faced Stiles fully, who sat back on the sofa. He crossed his arms, and after a while of testing Stiles’ face, he rolled his eyes.

“Peter knows the danger of being an Omega, and will keep appearing with new attempts to push himself into the pack. I won’t be able to help but need his assistance every now and then, but he’ll never be part of us, even if he’s a true family for Cora and me.”

Stiles nodded. “You better keep your word.”

Derek waited a bit more, before sighing again. “Spill it out.”

Stiles shrugged. “You were the one to ask me to stay- there's nothing in particular I want to say. Well, I can only guess I’m _expected_ to want to say is that I appreciate the stuff you said. I really do, in hope that that's what you really think of me.”

“I kept you in this for a reason,” Derek said matter-of-factly, with such a sure way which made Stiles lick his lips nervously.

“But he wasn't entirely wrong, you know,” Stiles noted. “You do let me wasting these peaceful times I’ve helped you achieved, intentionally or not.”

Derek unfolded his arms, like his constant self-shielding was too much for him to be able to express himself properly, for once.

“Like I said to Peter, there’s a lesson you tried to teach me, or at least so I figured- and I finally understand it now. A pack is worthless if we are only skilled as individuals, but not synchronized or even trust enough to count on each other, without a need to always be guided on the next move.”

It dawned on Stiles that his job there just might be done. The pack had yet to reach its potential, but they were on the way there, and there was nothing for Stiles to really add to that. He had planned to just drop that bomb out of nowhere, but he knew it was much more right to slowly drifting off and letting go.

His chest tightened with that thought. After all, he felt more comfortable in their company than during dinners with his Father, as acting like nothing was wrong was easier than simply hiding everything. Something ugly in him liked it, the necessary to enjoy the bond without thinking about his sins, so they would not sense anything suspicious.

“You help the pack to become more united,” Derek continued meanwhile, saving Stiles from collapsing under the heaviness of his last thought. “Instead of going against on each other and make a mess, they compete on who comes down on you better.”

Despise the choking feeling, Stiles was able to release an honest smile for that one, not even forcibly faking. It really would be a harder process than he had thought.

“D'aww, look at the proud Papa talking,” Stiles cooed at him. “Those are the moments where all the pain caused of raising them is paid off.”

“There's not much glory in it, if messing around with you is that easy to do.”

Stiles snorted. “Oh, I see you joined them. You better watch out and not go right after them though, because I think they slowly start to like me.”

“I hope not, because in that case, it means I failed as their… surrogate-guardian.”

Stiles hummed approvingly. “Well, you roll with my jokes, that's a good sign you are going in the same direction.”

Derek looked irritated, though his body language showed it was not as impatiently as Stiles’ continuous joke had cost him in the past.

“I _am_ a role model for them, and if they know better they will deal with your wisecrack, absurd self only because you... know your way.”

It took everything in Stiles to not let anything more than a snore to burst out in a reaction to that. “Wow, you found a way to say I'm smart without hurting your pride. It had to take a lot of time and effort to put into just for me, I'm flattered.”

Derek huffed, and Stiles wondered if there was some truth to what he had suggested only jokingly.

But it made Derek seen a little dependent, in some way, and Stiles knew he could not close this chapter without living Derek with a confidence boost.

“You are a good Alpha, you know. In general, and for them specifically. You all may have hard times, but you make up for it. They are all much better now than what they used to be during their time as humans, and not just because you simply turned them. They are grateful to have you, even if they don't say that. Even for someone who watches from afar, it's impossible to miss it.”

Something in Derek's gaze softened and Stiles was thrown right back to that night, right after they both had been rescued out of the school’s pool. Derek had worn the exact same look of wonder on his face after Stiles had agreed with him that the main difference between Werewolves and the Kanima is that the latter is an abomination.

Stiles was glad to say something right and meaningful to Derek again, and witnessing it melted his heart.

Because he looked like a puppy, who had been abused his entire life and did not understand the sudden affection he got, yet wholeheartedly embraced it- not because he actually looked cute. Derek did not do _cute_ , and even if he did it would not affect Stiles _that_ way. No, sir.

Derek lowered his head, something between an actual, sincere smile and a shade of it on his face. “I’ll still insist that it has something to do with you too. I thank you for it.”

“Well, you know what they say- the kids deserve the best.”

Derek shook his head, but with no real sign of ridicule.

“They _are_ a family, in the end,” Derek stared fondly at the sofa, where his pack have sat on just a few minutes ago. “I’ve always seen them like that, but I’ve used to think that they would never grant me with anything beyond power gain; nothing that a real family would.”

“This is why you still wear the same shape you’ve had as a Beta, unlike Deucalion and Peter, right?” Stiles guessed. “Even if you were drunk on power too, both of them went against the very nature of Alphas by killing from of their own to draw a power- the same one that should be already theirs through the connection with those same people.”

Derek grimaced. “Knowing how it feels to be committed to my Betas, I can’t think about that without imagining how painful the process must have been.”

He paused to look at Stiles thoughtfully, something in his eyes sincerer than ever, which made the one on the other end of the stare to swallow.

“You really taught me a lot. You’ve somehow always known better than any of the real Werewolves, and you keep proving that every day. You’ve proven me wrong about humans, too, when I was convinced they were all like Gerard.”

Stiles’ heart missed a beat at the mention of the name, but Derek ignored it, seemingly thinking of it as a reaction of a surprise for his declarations, and huffed instead.

“As obnoxious as you may be, it’s good to have you here, with us.”

Stiles had never felt the blood gone from his face that quickly before.

He did not deserve to be included under that title of _with us_ ; not when Derek had just used the name Stiles was simultaneously associated with, cheating on their trust and faith in him.

Suddenly he realized something scary: that his efforts may be in vain once his collaboration with Gerard would be exposed, as it might break the pack yet again. What if finding out about that would cause deeper trust issues than they have before- this time not just related to the pack, but individually too? What if being the pack’s glue, knowing he was going to tell them the truth one day, had actually been the worst move he could have done?

How could he not plan it better, have an out? Now that he knew Derek had learned his lesson and find a way, he did not have a way to carefully get out of that circle?

“What’s wrong?” Derek’s brows furrowed with worry, and he got closer to Stiles while carefully keeping himself out of Stiles’ personal space, like he was preparing for Stiles to go through another panic attack.

Damn, did Stiles not deserve that gentleness, that _care_.

Stiles nodded weakly. “Right. Okay. Um, I- I’ll go now, then.”

He stood up, and Derek with him- but Stiles walked to the lift before he could do anything.

“Stiles, just wait until they come back, so I can drive you home. You still don’t look well.”

Stiles did not let it quit his walking, pressing the lift’s button. “No, it’s fine, really. Thanks.”

He could not find it in himself to turn around, even if he had a few more seconds until the lift would reach their level. He had not wished for his leg to be healed more than that moment, when all he wanted was to skip down the steps as fast as possible.

“You can’t drive that way.” He heard Derek making determined steps towards him. “Not when you’re not focused. If something happens and your leg will fail you -- ”

“ -- I said I’m _fine_!” Stiles screamed.

It was enough to stop Derek, and Stiles hurried to enter into the opening lift.

He wanted to apologize over that, but there was another regret that sat on his tongue which was waiting to jump out of his mouth, and was the cause he was that snappish, to begin with. He could not risk it coming out, not yet- and so he let the doors to close behind him before he pushed the _down_ button.

Stiles rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the anxiety.

Just four more Labours; just four more weeks, and he would get back to the sucked, yet much less stressful state he had lived by just a year prior, and Derek would officially get what he deserved: having closed ones who were actually deserved to be cherished.

Closed ones who actually deserve to be ones of Derek’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/172358245361/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-11)


	12. Chapter 12

Beating monsters every week was not as cool as television made it seem to be. Not when the adrenaline that sent his heart hammering in his chest gave no contentment whatsoever, and not when all the abnormal that Stiles would meet each week became a routine much faster than he could have imagined.

With that, the remaining weeks of the summer felt almost uneventful- even if at most of the times, he was the one to intentionally make it that way. He could care less about the challenge or about succeeding at it, and no matter how close he advanced to the end of it- it kept feeling like he still had a forever left.

But even with not that many big occurrences- each of the Labours were still meaningful enough to leave their mark on the unrotten parts of his dispassionate entity.

-

It started with the seventh Labour: fetching a runaway creature known as the Cretan Bull, which was no other than the father of the Minotaur.

Just for that relation -- the birth of the Minotaur was defiantly not one of Stiles’ favourite stories -- the Labour was almost as disgusting for Stiles as cleaning Deaton’s stable, and he had no idea how the farmer’s family could have looked after that certain Bull for generations, and even go as far as bringing it with them when they had immigrated to America. There had to be some kind of a connection between the family and the creature, though, if the sad eyes of the farmer when he talked about was anything to go by, which meant that only Hera could be blamed for the sudden transition in the beast’s peaceful personality.

Nevertheless, what Stiles cared about more than everything else was the order to bring the Bull back alive, since killing was not something he could dare doing anytime soon.

Just having to face a beast again made it a great relief to have Derek with him- who drove him there, as it was out of the city. Knowing he was there somewhat helped to calm Stiles’ preliminary symptoms of a panic attack, along with keeping quiet and not expressing his concern beyond the furrow of his eyebrows. It was an expression that he would eventually wear a lot while looking at Stiles from there on- a worry combined with frustration over Stiles unexplainably being more restless than usual.

In the end, it did not take Stiles long to find the Bull, and one precise, stunning hit to the creature’s head with his bat was enough to take a hold of him. The size of the creature was somehow good enough for Stiles to be able to carry it on his shoulders, which made the way back much faster- although his injured leg made sure to pay him back for it.

Stiles wished he would be able to save forever in his head the picture of Derek waiting for him by the entrance to the shed, eyes wholeheartedly impressed, perhaps even a bit proud. It was the first time he had let anyone watch him during a Labour, and long since someone was not distracted while he was exposing his level of strength; all in all, Stiles was not very prepared for the weight of the expression that he had been sure Derek would save for his Betas: like that of a wolf watching his Betas returning to the den with their first hunt.

It was a kind of attention Stiles had rarely experienced- the last time he could remember had been during the Lacrosse game he had made goals at, but it had never been because of who he _was_.

Stiles felt the smile that was stretching across his face in return- but forced it to vanish before it would send a friendly attitude he could not let Derek get from him, no matter how much it hurt to avoid him of that. Stiles had to remember he had to do anything he could to reduce the pain of disappointment when the time came for the truth to be discovered.

And, most importantly- Stiles did not deserve it.

-

Stiles appeared at the Loft only two days after that, instead of right a day after. When asked, he answered that he felt better, and simply needed to rest for a day at his home because of his injured leg.

After that, things were back to normal more or less- only it was Derek who sneaked stares at Stiles when the other was supposed to not notice, instead of the other way around.

He hated that, but after so long of struggling to get his attention, he knew that he would have selfishly hated it if he did not.

-

For the next labour, Stiles had to set free four mares from the hands of a mafia known as the Biston Crime Family.

The name was well familiar for Stiles; the organization was very talked about by probably the entire state’s law enforces, and it was impossible to not hear about it if you were related to a sheriff department worker. Accordingly, Stiles was sure that the creatures had not fallen to that specific mafia family by a chance.

He easily took care of the watchmen of the estate’s gates, and borrowed the uniform that one of them wore, just in case. He then let himself inside, and it did not take long for him to find the stables. After knocking out the groomers, he proceeded by opening the mares’ stalls, but to his surprise- none of them making any move to get out, as they are more interested in whatever it is they were talking, which, according to its smell, is clearly not hay.

It caught enough of Stiles’ curiosity came closer to check it out, but when he tried to get closer to one of the mares- she snarls at him with a strange look in her eyes, before going back to eating. Suddenly Stiles wondered in terror if Gerard was that well-informed that he made sure the beasts would be horses, with the guilt Stiles still felt about the two he had shoved down during the Labour at the _Chiron_ farm.

Suddenly, he noticed two huge safes at the other side of the stall, behind the mare, and realized that they were probably domesticated to guard them. Whatever is kept inside, he knew that as a Sheriff’s son he could not ignore that and had to get the local department on this.

Using the phone of one of the fainted employees, he sent an anonymous email to the local sheriff department reporting box with a picture of the Mares, claiming he could not stand the illegal horse-trading any longer. Then he hurries outside, looking for a way to sneak the mares away just in case, and found an opening on the fence which led to a beach which was right behind the estate.

When security guys started to show up - including the owner himself, Diomedes - he had to struggle with them for a while before finally overcoming them- which was done just when he heard the police car coming closer. Two Deputies arrived, and Stiles guided one of them to the stable, while the other began questioning him.

Everything seemed to go perfectly well, until a scream was heard from the stable, and they both ran to check inside.

The mares were finally out of their stalls, and blood was dripping through their chewing jaws on the leftovers of the second Deputy.

The alive one lost his conscious at the sight, and Stiles hurried to carry him out, then made sure to lock the stables’ doors behind him with shaky hands.

Stiles had seen enough disturbing things in life, especially as a sheriff’s child, to not empty his stomach over it right away when there was someone to protect, but it did not mean he was ready to function properly in a situation of that sort.

He could not comprehend what he had just witnessed; and being still full of adrenaline of escaping bullets while trying to strike with his bat as many people as he could, it was inevitable when he came crashing to the ground, too shocked and shaken to even go through an attack. He returned to reality only when he heard the sirens getting closer.

Jumping to the car, Derek thankfully said nothing before he started driving away from there.

His thoughts were still all over the place, but he still managed to get to the conclusion that the surprise over the Mares being man-eaters had been a trap- what  _he_ should have been the one to fall for, and him alone.

Gerard may not have had always prepared a twist for him -- and even when he had had, it had not been that violent and chaotic -- but Stiles still should have known better to at least not send someone else, on their own, to a stable with beasts he did not know anything about.

What had he been _thinking_?

He almost tempted to tell Derek about everything that had just happened, since the media would surely find about it.

What the news would not know, though- was how the boy who had caused that incident had become a sociopath, as he was able to leave without looking back at the bodies that were left behind, once he was done with his business.

-

“Your emotions smell like shit,” Isaac stated when Stiles came back to the Loft -- this time a couple of days after he was done with the Labour – as an answer to his unvocal question in an account of everyone keeping an awkward silence when he had entered.

And he should not even be surprised by that. One thing Stiles was truly professional at was hiding his real mental state from people who were close to him, but it was a completely another thing to do with those who had inhuman developed senses.

“I guess coming back stinky from those Labours, in one way or another, is just a part of the deal that I was not very focused when it was indicated to me,” Stiles shrugged. “At least you only have less than two weeks to live with that.”

Judging by his expression, even Isaac -- who had enough reasons to be self-centred those days, while waiting until the social work council announce about his future in a couple of weeks -- did not receive that lightly, although it just might be because he was simply surprised that Stiles did not snark at him as usual.

But, just like he had said- by the end of that summer, none of that would matter to any of them anyway.

-

He actually sighed in relief when he got the message about the next Labour, so hopefully, something else would conquer his thoughts. He was more than glad that the next Labour way in town, so he did not need a ride, in case it would go bad again.

Stopping his Jeep in the parking lot right next to _The Jungle_ , Stiles suddenly questioned his decision to come there at a Friday’s night- it could mean a lot of possible disturbances in the way, like the possibility of Danny being there.

Nevertheless, it was the evening with the biggest chance to find the Drag Queens there.

He had no idea what made him befriend them so much- perhaps it was because, in some way, they were the same type as him, only of another version with a different dialect. They liked using witty nicknames to refer to others as well, though theirs tended to be more playful; and more frequently than of _Dude_ or _Man_ , they simply used _Honey_ or _Sweety_.

“Oh dear, look who finally came to visit- our lil’ Eros Baby!” Hippolyte welcomed him in a big hug once he reached to her place by the bar.

He wished he could be inspired by her warmness, but the only thing he could identify with was the beats of the loud music around them- which was similar to the pain that was attacking him from inside the head during the recent days.

“Oh, hey, I really missed you all too,” Stiles choked out while almost all of his inner organs were squeezed out of him, along with the air in his lungs. “Is it okay if I talked to you in private for a moment?”

“Of course- anything for my Bubble Butt Angel!” The Queen finally let go of him, but only to block the blood flow to his hand as she grabbed it and led him to a quieter room.

As delicate as she looked, she never minded controlling her aggressiveness. Even if Stiles was thinking of attacking her and running away with what he needed from her, it was way too clear to him that this was not the right plan to do.

“So, um,” Stiles started when they closed the door after them, “is it true you have some kind of special belt?”

The curls of the forever-blonde rattled as she laughed loudly. “I don’t see you for months, and the first thing you do when you finally come to meet me is just to ask me for some toys? Where’s the little sweet chick who promised to kiss _and tell_ , and what happened that turned him to be so naughty?”

“Woah, woah, wait, not _that_ kind of belt! I’m not even into- I don’t think?- _anyway_ ,” he returned himself back to track through a groan, “I’m sorry for not coming to visit you for a long time, but ever since that party I’ve invited you to I didn’t have time to go to others, and I wish it was because I had someone to do _those_ things with. I’d love to come here again when it’s all over to actually hang out, but I swear it’s important. Do you have, by a chance, another untypical belt? Something that somehow has something unique related to it, like, almost _unnaturally_ unique?”

Hippolyte snorted again. “Love, you really think _this_ kind of a gossip would escape your very own girl’s ears?” She brushed off her earrings to emphasize her point. “I know all about your monster ass-whippings throughout the state. Those cheap bitches better not make you think I’m one, too.”

Stiles’ eyes opened wide. He thought that she was simply having the belt in her possession, but not that she was aware as well of the Olympian world.

She posed to him with her show-winning smile. “The very queen of Dionysus’ Maenads, a pleasure to meet.”

Stiles did not know whether to groan or laugh; why _of course_ the very centre and heart of the gay community of Beacon Hills were involved with Deities who were praised by the ancient Greeks, who were one of the most same-sex relationships accepting cultures of all times. If he remembered correctly, this was also the first period to have an appearance of Drag, if not to influence it in modern times.

And still, how was it possible that everyone he knew turned out to be a part of one of the supernatural worlds?

When Stiles just looked at her in a wondering expression, she made her classic full body eye-rolling, which started with tilting the head and ended with a shake of her shoulders before beginning to explain to him.

“We’re followers of Dionysus- you really thought that a gay bar at a forgotten place like here could succeed without a Deity’s blessing? We get to enjoy keep our club alive, and in return, we fight in his name- which happens about twice a week. He could be a serious party slayer, if he weren’t such a hothead.”

Trust Hippolyte to be the only one to say bad things about a Deity she was associated with without being afraid of the consequences. It almost sounded like he worked for _her_.

If Athena’s offer was anything close to that, Stiles might have taken longer to consider her suggestions.

“So you’re like some version of the Amazons?” He asked.

The Queen waved her hand dismissively. “Bitch, please. You know I’m too much of a classy lady to actually do _battles_. These women are so committed and take battles so seriously that they have torn off one of their boobs to fight better, while me and my girls basically tear up every living thing around us just to get a kick out of it. Don’t get me wrong, even without weapons, our abilities are still as fierce as our makeup. They even got me an award by Ares, the Deity of wars himself.”

Hippolyte messed with something in her back, until something got loose from under her dress and fell to the ground. She picked it up and showed it to Stiles: a leather pocket belt, with a buckle in a shape of a [Greek reef knot](https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQtBwmEfVtP4h4P4wCYkMxRSpb3XxOSjDpCYyE5etHR97XIe5q2).

This had to be the one he was requested to bring, despite the vague description of it.

“So, I know it’s completely out of place, but can I _please_ borrow you along with this belt for one night? It most probably won’t even cost you the _entire_ night, and if you know the cause, you must know that it could put even this place at risk, and -- ”

“ - Steady, you nervous puppy.” Hippolyte played with his hair, looking approved of the new length of it. “You gave us an extra party night that day you invited us to your friend’s birthday, so I owe you one night of my own. Queens always remember favours.”

Stiles blinked. “Wait, that’s it? No other conditions, not any monster or gods popping out of nowhere? You really agree, just like that?”

“I’ll do anything to see this Bambi face more around here,” she cooed at him as she caught his chin and cheeks in her palm. “After slaying all those monsters, you deserve to get any help you can get so you can later slay it in the club.”

Stiles nodded weakly. He was lucky that he was in pain anyway by her grip, so he did not have to excuse the reason to why the smile did not reach his eyes after that last statement, which he could not find it in himself to agree with.

He followed her out -- it was insane how easily shoe could pave a path through that massive commotion of people -- and they had just reached the Jeep when a big group of other Drag Queens stormed out of the building to their direction.

Stiles felt once again amazed at his stupidity. They were a group of warriors which were adored by two of the most chaotic among the Deities- how could have he dared to believe he would make it out of there without a fight?

“Stay away from him,” one of the Queens screamed to the one who accompanied him, “he’s going to take you hostage!”

Hippolyte turned around, but only to stand before him protectively. “Who the hell told you that?”

The other one hesitated a bit before answering. “I don’t know, just one of the new girls! It doesn’t matter, just come here already before he does something!”

Their Queen joined her hands. “I’m not dragging my heels a millimetre further until you show me what girl had the nerves to claim my lovely boy here, the sweetest of all, is fucking around with me.”

The group looked at each other, mumbling in confusion- until one of them stepped forward, pointing a long-shaped fingernail at Stiles.

“Don’t believe him, he works with Gerard Argent!” She shouted through her flashy lipstick-covered lips; even with the exaggerated makeup, there was something markedly realistic in her look. “Dionysus himself told me to warn you! They won’t be satisfied with only the belt when there’s you, who won it for your abilities in the first place! Isn’t it weird to you that he just came out of nowhere after only battling monsters so far?”

Hippolyte stayed quiet for a moment, but her unimpressed voice suggested she was not taking time to consider her words at all, but rather to control her anger.

“You girls better be drunk, because what I see in front of me is without a doubt a Faux, and while I have no problem with that- I don’t remember having one among us.”

Stiles was not sure he understood what the term she used meant, but nonetheless, the one to blame him looked at him with a deadly look in his eyes, and suddenly he could hear her talking to him in his head.

_This is the end of the glory which your mother blessed you with. This time was the last._

Then a big flash of light grew from within her, and all the people in presence covered their eyes as she disappeared.

Only Stiles’ eyes were already blind with anger, for hearing Hera mentioning his Mother with no little respect. It almost made him asking Hippolyte to let him join them in their next rampage, and maybe he would have, if it was not to the still fresh memory of that night with Isaac.

It seemed like no matter what, no one could be safe around him anymore- both physically and emotionally wise.

-

And just like that, three weeks had passed in a blur of anxiety and hollowness.

Even with the stitches out of his back, and the last few Labours being relatively easy on his leg, letting it getting almost fully healed- nothing of that was relieving enough to him.

There was only one last Labour left to go, but he felt like all those which had come before were draining him more and more with how easier and quicker for him to complete they became. It just felt wrong- either there was a catch he kept missing, or his fighting instincts had been woken without giving him time to fully be in control of them.

That dullness feeling got worse with each week, and he found himself spending more time in his own home than at the Loft; what had started as only a day of rest would turn into more, with the growing need to procrastinate until he gained enough energy to see the others again.

He had been sure to have a successful experience with putting a brave mask on and acting normally -- whether it was before or after his life became as far from normal -- but the experiences he had been through during those occasions, admittedly, were nothing compared to his most recent ones.

He should have known since the time where Scott, of all people, could have told there was something off about him, that time when he had had to deal both with the guilt of his Father losing his position because of him and the pressure on him to find the supposedly spark within himself.

And yet, he still could only call himself weak for that.

He was the smart one- even to the point where he was starting to figure out how to use his fighting instincts at will; and just like he had them, there had to be instincts for being emotionally immune to hard conditions as those he would undergo in wars. What was his problem to unleash those too, then? Was he _that_ much of a wimp that it overcame his divinity inherent emotional strength?

And how could he not find it pathetic -- just straight out laughable case -- when on the day he finally got to play a game online with Scott, all he could think about was what Scott had mentioned about catching his scent at Deaton’s clinic, and that the vet had refused to tell him anything about the reason for that. Stiles had waved it off by promising he would tell everything after a few more rounds, and while the other fortunately forgot all about it-  Stiles was not able to keep his mind completely off of things for a few hours like he had intended to.

It was a good thing, then, that through the rest of the remaining days of the summer, they did not have much time to spend together. After finishing summer school and getting his motorcycle license, Scott planned to use the rare free time he got in parallel to his Mother to indulge her, especially after the crazy year they had been through.

Hearing that might be the only serious thing to distract Stiles, just because it reminded him what a burden if a son he was. He may have had good reasons to keep declining their annual vacation again and again -- using the excuse of their financial state -- but this, along with Stiles being more edgy than usual as it was, caused tension that sometimes made Stiles unjustifiably unload some of his stress on his good-willed Father.

And when nothing at home helped him to cope anymore, he had no choice but coming to the place he should not at any mean have another chance to enjoy it anymore, not with The time to reveal everything getting closer and closer.

It was selfishly, but also not. He swore to himself to do anything it took to get through whatever Hera and Gerard would plot for him, which had to include keeping friends he did not deserve, so he would not go through a breakdown he would not be able to pull through in time and keep them safe in the process. It might not be his fault to get close to them and put them at risk without being aware of a Deity’s fury towards him, but he was still obligated to at least keep a safe distance from them so long he could, considering what he _had_ done knowingly, too.

He was just so, _so_ pathetic.

Every day he promised himself that he would keep cold façade, and slowly let them get unattached- but he kept failing, and failing _hard_.

Each time he had brought another attraction- one day it was Monopoly, and on the next day, it could be a Disney Songs Challenge on YouTube. Even Derek, the one to usually hesitate to truly join them -- like those who did not enter the sand area of the beach, but came anyway to enjoy the fresh air -- participated some of those games, too. The highlight was when a smile escaped out of him in a _Try Not To Laugh Challenge_ , at a video of a baby goat headbutting a toddler. In some ways, Stiles had to admit, it was the highlight of his entire summer- after the rescue of the Betas, of course.

Those moments were the rare night where he giggled into sleep rather than restlessly rolling over in bed to the late hours of the night, even if it was just to wake up weeping with the newest nightmare. There seemed to be no escape from this constant zombie-like state he was being in, besides in the last place he wanted to find it.

Apart from that time Isaac made it clear they were aware of his excessive emotions, the pack did not confront him about it, which Stiles was thankful for. But during the recent weeks, he had noticed how everyone was suddenly touching him more, mostly unconsciously: he got surprised whenever someone other than Erica was leaning into him when he sat next to them, and even patted his back or knee whenever he lost a game, or just whined in general. Cora, in particular -- perhaps because of being a born Werewolf who relied on physical comfort more than all of them -- kept finding other random moments for contacts, like using his shoulders to sustain herself whenever she got up off of the sofa, and sometimes even replaced her usual hits with a hard ruffle to his hair with her knuckles as a reaction when he at times where she got irritated with him.

The conflict between soaking himself with all that affection and not to let him subside into it more than he needed to be able to pass another week drive him crazy. He tried to find reasons to make it somewhat easier to go entirely against his morals, but after he brought them to the point where the stability of the pack should be up to them and there was nothing he could contribute to it, as an outsider- it was impossible to avoid reality.

Because the truth was, as much as he wanted to let them gradually get used to not have him around- he desperately wished, at the same time, for the chance to live through those last days of the only summer he had spent with friends ever. Friends outside the online world; friends he cared about and who cared for him back.

And not just because they had helped him distract himself even from his regular depression, or because of popularity or life after school; in fact, he was already invited to a birthday party right at the first day of school, but those sorts of things were nothing compared to those short, precious moments with the pack as their fake-true friend.

One last time to make Erica laugh- a true, free laugh, where she had to stop whatever she was doing; one last time to watch Boyd being the only one to not react to his foolish deeds because eyes were fixed on the beauty Blonde; one last time of Cora huffing and puffing at him, like the true Hale she was; one last time of laugh until his sides hurt at Isaac’s utter inability to accept a loss.

One last time of watching Derek from the corner of the eye, the way he pretended to be focused in his book and not listening to them; his deadpan face when Stiles tried to include him in the conversation out of the blue and dry-humor replies; the expression he would make when Stiles intentionally ate in a messier way than he did naturally, with the little smirk when it made Stiles choke on his food from laughing; the little furrow whenever Stiles was walling as far as to the toilet, thinking of the injury even when Stiles forgot about it; the way his little comments would make his Betas’ day, and sometimes were the peak of Stiles’ too.

No more of drinking in those insane hazel eyes, which made him wish he could take on Athena’s offer to become immortal just so he could watch them forever.

All in all, he would never have enough time to be fed up with any of those.

-

“It’s time already?” Geryon, a giant man who was built from three bodies, clicked his tongue. “That old man has no patience, does he?”

With three different bodies, it was hard to determine the front of the figure at first glance, as it seemed like hands and legs were surrounding the entire body. After a chance at a longer stare, though, Stiles figured out there were only six arms and six legs in total, and four of them were integrated with the one next to them from the shoulders or hips, respectively, all the way to either the elbows or the knees. Everything was connected by three chests -- with a small bulky area which might be described as the hunchback-like backside -- although the heads were the part to prove that the body in the middle was indeed the main one.

All of the trio of the heads had mostly human features, even if they were much uglier than those of a normal person, especially considering the strong facial bones. The one in the middle, which was the only one to be placed on the top of his large neck, had a mouth and a little of a chin; unlike the two others, which faced other directions consisted of only brown, almost dead-fish like eyes and a broad nose, and probably were used as extra sensors for the black sports of the middle head.

Stiles observed all that as he was leaning against a rock, drops of blood from the deep cut on his forehead kept disturbing his sight.

He had burning abrasions everywhere, especially on his face and arms; his clothes were torn, which left the hole in his upper left arm exposed- being caused by a brutal bite by a hound with an additional set of legs, which just barely missed his bone.

Speaking of damaged bones- what had been a tolerable crack in his leg had turned into an actual fracture.

The only bright side was that at least most of his enemies had been taken care of, especially after such a long while of them, annoyingly enough, weirdly keeping appearing out of nowhere, one after another, from all around the small, godforsaken island.

But with such a monster as Geryon- Stiles only hoped Derek was not still waiting for him instead of returning home, from where he had left him, back in America.

It was exactly as implied: his last Labour was set far from the borders of the United States, somewhere in one of the Canary Islands, where he was requested to seize the cattle of Bulls of Geryon, and bring it back with him back to Beacon Hills.

All in all, he had been sure the man was a loner, and only the impossible distance was the problem.

Stiles had not had much time to wander around after landing there, but he still was able to deem that the island was smaller than an average town, with the area’s size enough only for those who were that much desperate to isolate themselves. It was mostly covered in enormous rocks, like a stony forest, though, it had not taken him long to find an open area where the first sign of the herd could be seen.

And this was when the riot had broken out.

First, there had been an ambush of bizarre monsters that none of which he had heard of before. While all the beasts he had seen so far were either monstrous versions of real animals or combinations between a few kinds- most of the monsters on that island were so malformed that it was almost like someone designed them under the inspiration of a children's drawing. Most of them had had extra organs, too.

The enormous commotion had not left any path to get away through or a chance to reach a hideaway for quickly weaving some sort of strategy, and so all he could have done was waving his bat left and right, shoving bodies away and striking them to the air as fast as he had managed. Every time he had tried to reach the herd of Bulls- more backups had been exposed in the surprisingly well-layered security.

When he had finally gotten to the door of the livestock fence, he had had to face what had made the impression of the main herdsman and his monstrous guarding hound- which, like too many other creatures of that island, had more than two pairs of limbs. Since its similarity to an actual dog, Stiles had only repelled it away with a minimal force that he had thought to be enough of a threat- only knocking out its owner right away had been enough of a reason for the loyal canine beast to charge at him again, and this time it had successfully snapped at him.

This time Stiles had no choice but to stun the Hound as well, though the storm of emotions had made him to idiotically lose the hold in his club, which had rolled away.

Before being able to decide between getting the bat first and then commencing to encourage the animals to get out of the fenced area, he had suddenly noticed that someone else trying to sneak away one of the Bulls. With no weapon in his hand, and the bow costing too much time to reach to in his zipped bag- he had climbed on a nearby rock, had run to its very edge, and acting under a crazy instinct, as though he was a professional wrestler- he had jumped on the being, and had headscissorsed it.

It is almost unnecessary to mention that he had no little experience with such wrestling moves before, which caused in an awful landing, right on the wounded shin- which was crushed under both of their weights.

The attacked one had ended with his head hitting on a rock nearby, but Stiles had not been able to check on the outcome either way while he had been screaming in agony, grunting his way to the nearest stable thing to lean on- which was where he was found by his hopefully last opponents of the day.

Or forever, considering he was not able to stand even if he could have ignored the pain.

Having a seemingly much more functional body than the rest of the island’s inhabitants -- shoulders going backwards instead of the sides to sync with the other bodies, for example -- Stiles chose to skip the part of asking for his name, as he was undoubtedly the owner of the island- or at least one who could easily gain that position had he wanted to. Unlike the rest, his body looked the less randomly distorted, and actually fitting to for combat.

Had he not been in that condition, Stiles might have felt sympathy towards the monster because of the old man he had mentioned- who Stiles could tell straight away that he was Gerard, which meant that Geryon, too, had suffered by his hands.

“We all wish he would have,” Stiles finally responded, trying to speak in an audible tome despite his unsteady breaths. “Have you worked with him too, like that old guy Moll?”

The three different heads of Geryon huffed impatiently. The two sided heads apparently did not really have a mind of their own, as their expressions were mostly in sync with the one in the middle. The further limbs did not react differently than those in the supposedly front, either.

There was only something off about the shadow, though. There was one that came normally, right beneath Geryon’s legs, which reflected the overall figure- but then there were two others, which were symmetric to each other yet weirdly different than the central shadow.

Stiles was not sure whether it was a weird phenomenon of the island or something that the meant that it was magic that blended the three originally different bodies into one- but when Geryon talked again, it seemed like the latter was not the true case.

“Experiments, of course!” Geryon bellowed. “What better thing does this person have to do with his life than a mix between a questionable DNA of Titans and what he could scratch from Medusa's stone head, just to stuck the poor thing on an island with the rest of his failed experiments?!”

That explained all the weird, mutant creatures the island was infested with; like it was a landfill of monsters’ factory.

Was it really truly Gerard’s doing, though? Not only he had tried to make himself a Werewolf once, which was considered to be a type of a monster in his crooked world- but he had _created_ ones as well? Just how many secret backup plans like that did he have?

And how dared he make Stiles an enemy of them, and they all shared the same fate of suffering by his hand?

“Then let’s make a deal,” Stiles coughed. “You’ll come with me and let me take the herd to him, and once he confirms my business with him is done, I’ll let you do whatever you want with him.”

That was a kind of deal that both sides of it would do good for Stiles- he would end this without killing someone who had been screwed by Gerard his entire life, which made him an enemy of his enemy, and Gerard would finally get what he deserved.

Geryon laughed; even his two minor heads seemed to ridicule him through their gaze. “The accomplishment of growing these cattle was the only comfort I’ve ever had, I’m not lending it to anyone for anything. Besides,” he started to get dangerously close, “Creating a monster is not something that can be undone- I’ll stay a monster in every sense of it for the rest of my life, and monsters never work with Demigods.”

It turned out that the humanoid look of the monster did nothing to his mind. It left Stiles with no choice but to use what he had saved only for the most extreme emergencies, since his priorities had become that petty.

“Guess that’s why I got this,” he said as he was forcing himself to release his protective hand from over his injured one, so he could fish out a bottle out of his pocket belt -- which he was inspired to buy by Hippolyte’s advice -- which was filled with the Hydra’s venom.

A shadow of concern passed upon the three sets of the eyes, but it was gone the moment they turned back to Stiles. “I heard rumours, and you take advantage of them.”

“Let’s find out.” Trying to let his hollowed arm to rest for just a little longer, he used the one that was still holding the bottle -- preventing it from getting out of his reach -- to open his backpack and take out one arrow. He laid it on one thigh, in a way that it would stay stabilized while keeping the arrowhead as far from him as possible- then cautiously opened the little bottle, though he could not control his shaky fingers, before he poured a drop of the liquid on the very tip of the arrow.

The metal of the arrow itself began to crack with the very first moment of contact, and melt a bit with a fizzy sound; even the ground beneath, on which only part of the little drop fell on, became grey in an insane speed, along with all the grass around the point.

Geryon stared in shock at the phenomenon, and seemed unable to move while Stiles held the smoky arrow with a grasp as firm as he managed with his damaged hand, ready to stab it into him at any given moment, while closing the dangerous bottle with his free hand. Putting it back in place, he dug in his back for his bow and unfolded it.

His enemy, desperate as he felt his death getting closer, tried to throw at Stiles the biggest stone he could find. Stiles succeeded to roll away, and shoot the poisoned arrow despise still being on the move, and being blinded with the pain of having to used his injured arm- which hit the island's owner right in the skull.

The heavy tripled-bodied figure shook the ground as he fell on it within a moment after being shot. Stiles would have surely reacted the same if he had been still standing- but even sitting suddenly felt too much.

He shut down his eyes hard, struggling to overcome the pain, and opened them to find two other beings capturing the space Geryon had just stood in.

It appeared that the unexplained additional shadows were these two -- identical twins, by their similar appearance -- who had apparently waited behind Geryon this whole time, only he was in too much pain to notice anything beyond the monster. Stiles may have seen many weird things until that point, but this was actually the reason that something about them made him question their presence there, of all places.

They looked entirely human, unlike the others he had fought, yet their expressions did not mean any less bad news: they smirked at him like vultures whose dying prey had finally received its final assault.

Because why _of course_ more enemies would keep coming; it was the last Labour, after all, so what better way to celebrate it?

“Please tell the others in line that Stiles is excited of all the curiosity around him, but he will take now a couple of hours of break before the next showdown,” Stiles croaked.

“It’s a shame Deucalion isn’t here to experience _that_ side of you,” commented one of them, who had a rougher jaw than his brother. “This helpless look suits you so much.”

 _Deucalion_? Stiles had not expected to hear that name again, at least not in a situation outside the Werewolves’ world.

It overwhelmed Stiles just how much those two realities kept haunting him, never giving him rest from dealing with at least one of them. What could he have had to do with _this_ field yet again?

And what did any of those issues had to do with these random twins, or made them get all the way to that island?

“We were busy with other duties that day of the breakout to the vault so you didn’t see us, but we were also a part of the Alpha Pack,” the other one, who had a babyface, revealed to him.

Stiles’ pulse was already at a not-that-great state, but being told that had made him feel even sicker.

His first shock was momentarily calmed, as he reminded himself that they got rid of all of the Alpha Pack; only then, as though his mind ran a little more ordinally manner- a memory of Derek’s incidentally mentioning twins in some joined form who were part of the Alpha Pack came to his mind.

Nevertheless, it did not matter that much if they were indeed looking for revenge, or even if they were Werewolves at all; he only had one leg and one hand left functioning, and it was not anywhere close to helpful.

He felt scared, but somehow his exhaustion made him too indifferent to show that. It was a weird, almost unexplained feeling, when he finally found the word for that.

 _Acceptance_.

Which was simply a synonym to losing, and Stiles was not having that. He still had his most effective weapon, after all.

“Aren’t you the twins who fell down the escalators so badly that it ruined the only thing that made you useful? You can’t even fit on _that_ island anymore.”

They both drew out their claws and fangs, demonstrating that they still had enough to give anyone a fight.

“ _We_ weren’t the ones to being beaten to death by some gawky teenager,” Babyface corrected him, “and yet, because we’re associated them- we were included in the joke the Alpha Pack was made into. A joke that’s spreading like wildfire to any possible pack in America, if not even farther.”

“All while missing the very important part of your admiration by the Deities,” Rough Jaw continued him in his turn. “How grateful we are that Deucalion told us about your close work with Gerard, so we could locate you through him and take our revenge on you before we are made into everyone’s bitches.”

Stiles snorted, although tiredly and not whole-heartedly as he would have wanted.

Their words were ironic to him- it was their leader and previous packmates who were defeated when they were not even there to protect them, no matter how they put it, and chances were they would have suffered the same bad luck the other had had.

“As if your reputation was higher when you decided to become _his_ Alpha bitches,” he responded finally.

This statement granted him with growls by the two.

“Soon you’ll find out that anything is better than relying on the mercy of the Olympus,” Babyface warned. “We, at least, found it quick enough to move to another side.”

“That’s right, we’re also Demigods- sons of Poseidon,” Rough Face told him. “It may look like we’ve waited for the chance to battle you near the sea, but he doesn't acknowledge us anymore, not ever since we were bitten and made into a taboo worse than what we are in the human world. We’re sorry to disappoint, but you’ll have to be the one to pray for a safe journey to the underworld for yourself.”

So they had come all the way after him to interfere in his Labour just to take a pity revenge, because he was the reason everyone was _laughing_ at them?

Considering they were Demigod who had been given the bite, though, maybe it was not that surprising to hear about them making such an insane move.

And not that he could blame them for making it- knowing himself what being a Demigod was like, sometimes one could become that desperate to find being given other problems as the only solution for the ones he had already had.

What if Stiles would have taken Peter’s offer to be turned- would his life have become the same as them? Or maybe better, as it was a ticket out of this ugly destiny of being a Demigod like what they were hoping for?

Nah, no chance. Not after everything that summer had taught him the hard way.

Stiles coughed a laugh. “How do you know that Deucalion did not let you join his pack just so he could get to study Demigods better before he would have to fight me, and then slaughter you two once he was done? It’s not just about the Olympus- our lives will continue to be like that regardless of the world we choose to live in, because that’s the life we are going to have anywhere we’ll go to. That’s just how it works, and you better start to comprehend it.”

Babyface looked lost in his thoughts for a moment, until his Brother growled him out of it- although he seemed to be just as troubled by Stiles’ words.

Meanwhile, Stiles took the time to get up into a kneeling position, although he had to do even so with one hand against the rock for support, even if, funny enough, looking much less intimidating than what he imagined himself looking like while sitting.

“So, I say we’ll do a little competition: I’ll try to call on Zeus, while you try to attack me as quick as you can. Whoever is destined to be the most tragic hero between us will lose. Or win, actually, if the gods really tend to love to watch the soft opera-like lives of their children too much to let it be over that soon.”

“We’ll see about that,” one of them said, which was hard to identify exactly who it was as they both started to merge into their united shift, which did not look that terrible only because the other ugly monsters he had witnessed that day.

So yes, if Zeus really wanted to prove himself of a worthy ruler of the Olympians- he should seriously come down here and protect their dignity.

Because, what was for sure- Stiles was not able to do so in any way.

The arrows were useless without the Hydra’s venom, whose bottle was too far away from him right now, along with his bat. Even trying to do something with either of those weapons was a ridiculous thought, without being able to stand on two legs.

The more they got closer, the more it became clear to Stiles just how much he was doomed; they were not going be as nice as him to just leave him in a coma, that was for sure.

And yet he raised his fist, giving on his main source of balance for that.

Then, just a moment before the inevitable was coming next- a heavy thunder was heard, and more and more stones rolled down the rocky hills beside him to his direction.

The twins retreated while Stiles crouched down on one leg, a hand over his head- but none of the rocks got any near him.

When he looked above, he noticed that rather than stones falling from the top of the mighty rock he was next to- they came right from the skies, which were the same colour they had been that similarly clear summer day a heavy rain started in the woods, when he had wished for a flood.

With still enough adrenaline in his system to act fast, he picked up as many of them as he could and threw them at the two in front of him, and soon they joined the rest of the bodies scattered on the ground all around.

The rain of stones stopped the very moment the last twin fell, and Stiles followed through- losing his balance completely and hit the dirt underneath him face-first.

If only he had some fresh water to clean his wounds- no, fuck that, he needed to drink and had to _badly_ , with the sun even more unforgiving than in Redding. Honestly, what he really wanted was to just keep laying there, get just a little sleep before the next opponent would come.

But he knew all those thoughts really meant a failure, and he could not bring that upon the town of his loved ones back at home- not when he was so close to ending this.

Shaking and grunting, he somehow lifted himself up, sitting once more against the rock, with some stones in hand in preparation. His vision started to stir, and he battled the darkness back and forth, for what felt much longer than the few moments it probably lasted.

-

The first thing Stiles saw, when he was finally able to snap open his eyes again, was a strange light coming from his broken leg- beginning from the foot of and circling all the way up his shin.

He suddenly realized that his leg did not hurt anymore, at all.

He touched it hesitantly, and it indeed felt stronger and healthier than he could remember it- like he had just gone out of a professional massage session.

It did not end there, though: the light slowly spiralled its way to his upper body too, so any place he had any kind of mark at was healed perfectly. Under not longer than a few seconds, his body was in an even better condition as it had been the day before his first Labour.

He felt completely fresh, like he was not even dehydrated anymore.

Not that any of that would hold on for much longer, regardless of battles. For people like him, even his very own house was a dangerous place for to be at, too, with all sorts of sharp corners that he could never mature enough to avoid.

At last, he stood up, happily jumping with his miraculously wholesome body before he finally noticed the figure watching him.

Everything stopped -- his breath, his heartbeat -- with the look of his Father’s eyes shining with soft wrinkles of pride at him. His Sheriff uniform was perfectly ironed, like he had worn it only very recently and not during the entire way across the ocean that it took to get to the island, and his hair was in the most trimmed shape it had been since his Mother had died.

Or, possibly- _thicker_?

“Da- ” Stiles started, unsure, but he stopped himself as the one in front of him began to make a few steps in his direction, which was when he noticed that the other’s feet did not make any sound whenever they touched the ground.

Moreover, beside his laugh lines- all the other crinkles on his face were wrong, which was hard to see at first as it was hard to pay attention to anything else when someone like the Sheriff was beaming at you like that.

He did not look younger and more dashing only because he was that happy; it was just the same disguise his Mother had seen.

Stiles’ blood boiled.

“Change back,” he demanded through gritted teeth, almost panting of how much he had to hold back his anger.

“Are you certain you do not prefer me staying that way?” Zeus asked him through his Father’s voice, even quirking his exact same smirk- which rolled a painful shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“Screw you and your stupid jokes. You really think I’m going to respect you that way, when you look in the exact way you did when you destroyed my parents’ life?!” Stiles’ voice was almost trembling with the way the anger reached each and every point in his body, and continued to grow in a way that he would not be able to keep on hold much longer.

“Have you not acknowledged me as a parent of yours, just now?”

The Deity was lightened up as his appearance was transformed: his body grew to a much larger size, with little bolts of lightning, as thin as straws, streaming in the air around his figure; his hair, which grew to be as long as his beard, curled and darkened its colour to a storm-sky blue; his eyes whitened into a soft grey shade, with a continuously moving texture as though they consumed hurricane’s clouds; finally, his attire changed to a white cloth wrapped around his shoulder, exposing his well-built chest.

But what bugged Stiles the most was that the Deity had a great number of moles spotting his face, unlike the other Deities -- although their skin was always a little too shiny to notice that, not that he had ever had seen them for long enough to have time to observe them that much -- about as many as Stiles’ face was covered by.

Stiles swallowed. Until now the fact he got his genes from another male that was not the one he could _Father_ on a daily basis had not truly been assimilated in his mind. It did not make him question anything -- or feel any kind of proximity to the one in front of him for that matter -- but it was quite scary how undeniable that fact was, unlike what he had wished it would.

“Are the constellation imprints on my skin the matter your eyes are engaged in?” Zeus pondered. “Placing someone in the sky is one of our most significant duty as Deities; notwithstanding, it is not a simple undertaking to accomplish, and it leaves its marks even on bodies of celestial beings.”

Stiles stared at him back, not focused enough to understand him completely, when he suddenly raised his arm.

“Skorpios,” the Deity stated, which followed by a group of moles shining on his arm, and so happened with any other name he would mention: “Aiêtos. Pegasos. Thytêrios. Your Forefather, Perseus.” He finally tilted his head to show his left cheek. “The rest of the stars stay nameless- only time reveals who was destined to be placed there. The Hydra and the Cancer Karkinos you had defeated were both put in their respective places by Hera, and are now exposed on her skin.”

Did that mean that Hera actually was scarred forever because of him? Or more correctly, because the monsters no else than she herself had despatched at him to cause that?

It was the best news he had had in a while. Stiles could not wait to tell the others and see their faces-

...Only he would not, because right after this he would have the talk he had promised to himself to have with Derek.

He hoped that Scott would accept him afterwards telling him about Gerard as well so he would at least share this with him.

“One day,” Zeus shook him out of his thoughts, “when your mortal body would die- it shall join the stars too. From that day on, what humans now call the Engonasin constellation, will be known and be uttered by all of them as your name. I can already recognize it on your face, which one day will be drawn on mine.”

Stiles loosened and reclenched his fist repeatedly. Something about the proud way the Parent had said that made him want to wipe those facial stains off of his own face.

He had known to not expect well from his biological Parent, but could it really be that bad?

Why did he have to turn out as someone who would spread such a shitty feeling inside of him?

As a little boy, the knowledge that there was a stranger out there who could come take him literally out of the Sheriff’s grip, since his Mother was gone, had terrified him to the point it was the cause for a couple of his first panic attacks. Stiles remembered asking about him, to which the Sheriff had answered that he had either died in a motorbike accident or by disease- but either way, there was nothing to worry about.

While Stiles knew both of those things had been utter lies, he had only cared about the reassuring part, as he had trusted his Father more than he could with anyone else.

However, there he was, standing right in front of the one he had wished the most to not have to meet during the entire period of his involvement with Hera, and with the other Deities in general -- even going through multiple monster-infested islands as that one would have been much more preferable – which he had recently become even more anxious about ever since the random rain during the Labour of cleaning Deaton’s stable.

One of the Bulls suddenly mooed. It looked like none of the cattle seem to mind the bodies lying everywhere, as long as none were on their way to their food.

Stiles felt the same; that being may be the reason he existed, and so-called constituted as more than a distraction to the Sheriff after his wife’s death- but like he had been out of Stiles’ lives during the hard times, Stiles saw no reason to consider accepting him at that point.

He cleared his throat. “So, did Hera send you here ‘cause she suddenly got cold feet, after I survived the entire ten of her Labours?”

Zeus shook his head. “I do not intend to interfere in Hera’s concerns. I came here only out of a will to speak with you.”

Stiles snorted. “More like to screw me over, just like you did when you’ve met my Mum, and with another member of my past family. What’s up with your obsession with us, anyway? How can you even expect me to take you seriously with such a fucked-up history? The only natural thing left to assume from that is that you weren’t sure that the rain you’ve brought down back at the wood would be sufficient, so you made sure you come here too and make another one.”

“Deities are not to be judged regards the timing of their practices. I shall never stand by quietly while my offspring is being humiliated, and because they are mine, it is only obvious they would find the rest of the way out of the trouble themselves, as was what you were truly tested on. This includes an attack by my the most inferiors Brother’s offsprings, which was not part of the Labour.”

Stiles could not help but feel annoyed by the way the twins were described like that by Zeus simply for being Werewolves, even if they had spent their last moments attempting to murder him.

“You know, I’d love to get those blessings of yours and hear about all those stuff I don’t really care about since you’ve _screwed up my Mum_ , but like usual you come only in the most inconvenient times. So, if you excuse me, I still have to figure out how to move an entire herd all the way to California.”

Stiles proceeded to go in the direction of the Bulls, only Zeus stopped him within a couple of steps.

“Do not mind about the herd. Helios’ krater is strong enough to bring you wherever you need along with it. We only have to finish the talk before nightfall.”

Stiles furrowed, when he realized that the mentioned object had to be the item which had brought Stiles to the island:

Reading the line “ _find the cattle of the significant sun-redness_ ” in the text message he had received, Stiles had been sure it had referred to the city of Redding, which he had remembered reading somewhere to be one of the sunniest places in the country.

Only, when Derek and himself had arrived there- Stiles had only then bothered to check the attached coordinate, which had led to the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, next to Africa.

Derek had made the unimpressed look he always made when he found Stiles stupid, though there was no blow following, like Derek had used to add to that sort of reaction. Stiles had wondered if it was because he had been even more jumpy than usual during the drive, continuously thinking of the inevitable conversation when he would come back, where all the cards would finally be laid revealed on the table.

It was exactly the middle of the day outside the gas station they had stopped by when, as he had been sitting there, already irritated by discouragement- Stiles had wiped the sweat off of his face, and had vocally cursed the blazing sun.

Then, once his hand had not covered his eyes anymore- he had blinked repeatedly, since, out of nowhere, a terribly shining thing had appeared in front of him, which had made the figure which had come to stand in between to be darkened and unclear.

It had challenged him for a show of his boldness, to which he would be rewarded; Stiles had not even thought of the request before he had lifted his bat out of his bag in a combat pose, even though his eyes had been practically closed.

The figure then had revealed itself to be Helios, Deity of the sun, who had vanished immediately after weirdly wishing Stiles a safe journey.

Stiles had had to blink out if confusion at this point, but he had forgotten about it once his curiosity had grown towards the object which he had finally been able to observe, once his eyes had finally gotten used to the light: a large, golden-white Greek vase.

Stiles had ducked down and had picked it up to examine it more closely, and had heard the start of Derek’s call of his name before he had felt himself being shoved away by the wind in an incredible speed.

When he had been shaken away from the vase to the point where his grip on its handles had been released- he had landed on a beach, rolling a little before coming to a stop.

Looking up, the sky above him had been the same -- clean from clouds, and with the sun right in the middle of the sky -- but the view under it had been replaced by sand, huge rocks and a sea, which had not been very Californian-like.

The only explanation he could have thought of was that he had been carried through time -- through the sun’s route -- to land in his destination, at one of the Canary Islands. It was a good thing that he had always carried his equipment on him, so it had arrived there with him as well.

The vase had ended up being left on the beach, as Stiles had been occupied by observing his surroundings before the attack had begun.

By that point, his surroundings had changed again- with the skies weirdly gloomy without really having any cloud, which Stiles had appreciated, as it had brought a relief from the strong sun.

It was surely not the same back at Redding, though, and Stiles once again was filled with bad feeling over leaving Derek there on his own. Whether the vase would bring him back to the same point he had been launched from or not, he hoped Derek was not still waiting for him there, as more than half of a day had been passed by then, if his guess was correct.

He was shaken out of those thoughts when Zeus suddenly walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder- which felt like static electricity.

Once Stiles retreated from it, though, he was only a few centimetres from falling from a height of a few meters above the ground- as he suddenly found himself standing on one of the island’s mighty rocks.

“I found it a better spot for conversation,” Zeus explained.

“The first time you do a so-called fatherly gesture to me, and it almost kills me in the most embarrassing way,” Stiles sighed as he settled down, making sure he was at the most stable point on the rock, with no fear of falling. “Way to go, really.”

“Sharp tongue, just like Perseus,” Zeus noted as he was floating to stand on another rock across from Stiles. “I’m a very merciful Deity, but there is just one thing I absolutely cannot stand- and that is the insensitivity of people who will not give me my due respect. I do acknowledge that those very wits built such a strong trust between you and Dionysus’ Maenads, that they agreed to show you Ares’ girdle without a battle, and that is the only reason I let you go with the unhonourable way in which you are speaking to me.”

“I don’t give a shit what you’ll do to me, don’t you get it?” Stiles shot back. “You made my Mum, the most loyal person in the world, to cheat on my Father, and then stood by and did nothing whenever Hera has tried to hurt me, and all the innocent people who are in my surrounding at a  certain point in time, over and over again. I don’t know what Perseus did that I didn’t, but I know that even him and other of your kids didn’t get it as bad as I did. And it’s not even because you’re busy doing whatever I’d expect the one at the very top of the Olympus to be busy with! You might have come to tell me that I need to start worshipping you more or something, but -- ”

“ – I have not,” Zeus cut him in. “And as for your suggestion: although you indeed made the hate of Hera toward you to grow bigger than the one she had in her towards other offsprings of mine- it was Aphrodite’s prediction that impacted her the most.”

“Aphrodite’s prediction?” Stiles parroted in confusion, going over everything he knew about the Deity of love, beauty and pleasure- something which she had clearly never granted to Hera. “Since when can she see visions?”

“Rather than visions, it is the hearts of humans which she is able to see. Looking inside of yours, she could tell whose essence is compatible to yours more than any other person on earth, and thus it is only with them that you will know the greatest joy. That was the greatest revenge Hera had planned upon you- a separation between you and your great love.”

“What, you mean as in getting rid of my destined _Soulmate_?”

Soulmates was a concept that Stiles had never taken time to think about; mainly because he was someone whose day would be made if someone ever told him they found him even mildly attractive.

But that was probably his teenage hormones speaking, begging to be released that way. He could not deny that if there was someone out there, who was truly meant to be with him, and accept all of his weirdness in a way he thought only his brotherhood with Scott could stand...

“Nothing is destined,” Zeus clarified, “unless it is determined by the Moirai themselves. The ability of Aphrodite is to find the person among all who exist in your lifetime, who would bring you’re the most passionate pleasure of any kind, and is the most successful choice to combine your path of life with- which Hera has strived to repel.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “She acts like she doesn’t see a reason for me to pass all those monsters she has created especially for me, and yet goes out of her way to do that as well.”

Zeus smiled like Stiles was the one to be viewed as ridiculous. “How does it not occur to you that you are a reason to stand in awe of, even after all your deeds and my expression of will to immortalize you in the stars?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No need for that pleasure, I’ll pass.”

“Why, that would be unfortunate. There was a prophecy, as you already know. There was no one left of my offspring to honour my name, but then the Oracle foretold about the great leader, carrying my blood, that would rise. Hera had told me then that it must be a lie, taking my attention away from what she had been scheming. I do not regret this position be taken from you, as a battle between the two who were challengers for it is much more exciting for my boredom.”

Stiles almost laughed at what a parody of superhero's villains, who talked too much about their goal with no reason, Zeus was.

They were all just too pathetic- no wonder the world was the way it was.

“To survive the harsh conditions of your lives as a Demigod, your species has gained the greatest combat and endurance ability in the whole world. Yet, you, in particular, possess a latent immeasurable physical prowess and that far surpass others. Hera knew what it meant for a Demigod, who already belonged to my bloodline from his Mother, to be nursed by her milk. She had to do anything in her power in order to deprive you of your inherent competence of greatness.”

“And all of that because _someone_ could not let a couple to enjoy their perfect life quietly.” Stiles gestured at Zeus. “Thanks a lot for nothing.”

“It is thanks to me that you are sitting here right now, there is no reason for you to mind your Mother’s unfortunate. Furthermore, as angry and disappointed as Lycaon made me with mankind, I would not have let humans another chance to repopulate after the flood and redeem themselves, if they were a waste at any domain. Some of your females, after all, are too beautiful, even compared to the Nymphs. The wise of your Mother, in particular, made her be more than -- ”

“ -- Stop talking about her,” Stiles snapped, standing up again. “I don’t give a shit if saying it will make me join her in the underworld sooner than I should, but there’s no way I will allow you to talk about her. She was more than some prime prize to your so-called mercy.”

Zeus looked at him with a challenge. “How do you know you would not have acted the same?”

“Because I believe in stuff like _loyalty_ : a not-as-hard-as-some-may-think idea that is obvious in the wild, but somehow not so to such an elite being like you, the gods. If someone is willing to cheat with me on their loved one, it is not someone I would ever want to be with. I won’t trick them and go in disguise because I’m so lame that I would never be good enough otherwise, too.”

Zeus, surprisingly, smiled again. “You shall become more receptive and find out then that your values are not as good as you think, once you become a part of the Olympus.”

Apollo, then Athena, and now Zeus. Did he have to go through all the twelve Olympians to get his message clear enough?

Stiles ran the heel of his palms down his face. “What in all the things I’ve just said make you think I want to live a whole _eternity_ among people like you? I only agree to deal with beings like you in the first place just to get some peace and quiet for Beacon Hills, so _please_ just forget about it already, and tell all the rest who plan to meet me the same.”

Stiles gazed away, looking down at the herd. It was going to be a sad experience to take that sense of freedom from them just to bring them to someone worse, like Gerard.

This made him thinking of the upcoming talk with Derek, which Zeus was far than worthy to delay it for.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add to make this Father-Son reunion anymore awkward, or I’m free to go to finally accomplish my part of the deal?” Stiles asked tiredly. “There is another awkwardness I need to prepare myself to, if that makes you feel better.”

“You are referring to the truth you hid from your friends, are you not?”

Stiles would be excited that during his first meeting with his biological Parent he had already made it to a heart-to-heart about his personal life, if he did not have too many legends where he could read about just how much Zeus could care less about human problems.

“Yeah, it has to be funny to you, how much I care about other’s feelings that are about to be destroyed by me. I really wouldn’t expect you to care, or even be aware of it- not with how you left so many women to raise your children for you on their own, even in the most unsupportive surroundings. But free to laugh at me, by the way. I deserve all of it.”

“I have been more attentive than usual to your misery, due to Hera’s Labours. We, the Deities, sense whenever our heroes are in distress so we can consider to help them. Oddly, during most of those times, you were not in a life-threatening situation, but was socializing with people with whom you are safe. As a half-divine being who is expected to join us in the Olympus, you should know better than striving for justice while paying a personal cost. If others’ feelings affect you so much, then why would you tell the truth? Let everyone keep thinking of you as a hero, as you deserve, and you shall win the heart of your chosen one.”

“Chosen one?” Stiles frowned, when his eyes widened at once. “You mean Lydia? I have a chance with her? Fucking _finally_! Oh, wait, don’t tell me she’s the Soulmate you were talking about earlier?! It makes so much sense, all my attempts to get closer to her that just drove her away even further. I’ve always done everything wrong when it came to her -- I kept making a mess everywhere and being clumsy and falling all over the place -- but it was Hera who made everything nice I’ve tried to do for her into a disaster, wasn’t it? And her pride- she made her being so full of herself when I always _knew_ she was much more than that on the inside!” He slowly retreated the hands he had unintentionally raised when his mind was filled with worry. “Wait a minute- that forced, uncontrollable stubborn personality was forced on her only when I was around, right? Did it make her life hard at other departments?”

Zeus seemed quite disturbed by Stiles’ ramblings, and waited a while to make sure it was really finally over before answering.

“The girl I was referring to, in this case, was indeed her, since you chose a dedicate of your life to her. However, the person who Aphrodite informed Hera about was not her, but rather a man. His name is Derek Hale.”

His breath caught in his dry throat, and he almost lost his balance on the top of the rock again. No sound was heard for a few moments apart from the gentle wind which showed its present every now and then.

He refused to believe that Lydia was not _it_ for him just because some gods had decided so, but even then- what kind of a better option, even more than any other guy, did _Derek fucking Hale_ offer to him?

And why did it hit him that hurt, like his unconsciousness had just realized something that had yet to reach his mind?

“Derek? What do you mean by _it’s_ _Derek_?” Stiles questioned it vocally as well, a frog in his throat.

“You were right by assuming Hera plays with the minds of her victims. However, in your case, she decided to do that indirectly as well. Nevertheless, I was surprised when at her associate’s advice, Gerard Argent, she decided to not twist the mind of one of Lycaon’s Ancestry, but rather a human: his already maniac daughter. Perhaps she would have acted differently, if she knew he would eventually return, with your lives colliding right away.”

Stiles felt like he had been hit by a truck.

His legs had given up on him, feeling as far from lively as the earth he crashed on, and the rest of his body was trembling. There were tears in the back of his eyes, but he was too shocked to be able to get them out.

He had been ten years old when the fire had happened, still barely getting his life together after his Mother’s death. The person that he had been back then was closer to the one he was now than to what he had been like before, since his Mother’s death had forced him to grow up much faster. It was no wonder, then, that Hera had waited until that point in time, after his heart had been redesigning, sewing itself back together to a similar but still another shape of its own: the relevant one to search for its perfect completion.

Unless there had been another beforehand, which Stiles could not even afford to think about- as there had not been any other disaster in their town before that, there was a chance that person had been far from him and safe throughout that entire period.

At any rate, it had been all because of his pathetic heart, which had suddenly decided to all of a sudden long for one like Derek’s.

Why would it even care to change itself _that_ way? What did another person to love have to do with the hole in it, which nothing could ever fill, or be a close enough of a substitute? After all, there was only that much comfort that memories of his Father, Scott and Lydia had brought to him, and he clearly remembered himself craving for nothing but his Mother’s scent and body temperature during that period. It just made no sense that _this_ was what his subconsciousness had found after searching for in order to overcome the grief, when nothing about him was close to being a compromise.

Well, not the Derek of the _present_.

Because this was the really terrifying thing: Derek had changed too since then. As someone who had been through a trauma himself, Stiles could only imagine how the kind of trauma Derek had been through changed him, scarring his very essence.

The person Stiles had witnessed back, from random encounters around town, may have been a more logical choice to befriend with than what Derek would become later on- but it did not mean that it also grew the chances they would have had a more serious encounter one day.

Still, it had all been just enough to drive a Deity into murdering an entire family; eleven innocent souls who had burnt alive.

All those times where he had wished for Derek’s death, jokingly or not; and now even working with the man who had entertained the idea in the first place…

What if Peter’s run as an Alpha had not been accidental as well? What if Hera wanted to make it all even more tragically for Derek, as a punishment for begging to ponder about coming back. with his Sister being murdered by their own uncle?

This whole town proved to be connected to the Olympus and him in some way or another, so there was no end to the how anything bad which had ever happened was related to Stiles. After all, just when he had thought he had been born to be nothing more than Scott’s sidekick, pushing himself into events- they had all suddenly turned out to surround him.

Stiles had always been disgusted by popularity, even while wishing for some aspects of it- but now he really did not like it one bit.

He knew he was not to blame for existing or for the way he was born as, but it did not change the position he was at, in the very centre of it all.

His bag appeared next to him out of the blue, in some weirdly kind gesture by the Deity. Stiles took out the bottle of water in it, though he was too still too shaken to take big gulps like he really wanted to.

“I get it,” Stiles croaked, “she wanted to revenge by making my life a misery in the same way that caused my birth. But why going _that_ far into innocent people’s lives?”

“You shall only keep finding more misery, insisting on that line of thought.” Zeus shook his head. “It seems that you have found your recent foes very easy to defeat, enough that you are not even aware of how tough they were and what kind of a hero it makes you. Comparing to the likes of your comrades, too, even those with fast healing abilities, would die of fatal wounds within seconds; the damage they take would only stack, and fast healing would not aid as their strength would eventually fade. It is sad, then, if you let your attachment to Lycaon’s Ancestry to stop yourself from reaching your glory.”

The indifference of the Deities still was unbelievable for Stiles.

He closed his eyes in anger, fist clenched in one hand, while the other almost ruin the bottle it was holding completely. His nostrils flared while he was trying to calm himself through steady breaths.

“Sorry it’s _so_ fucking hard for me to understand how one man’s mistake can- ”

But as Stiles opened his eyes again, the Deity was gone.

Enraged, Stiles hit the rock beneath him with his fist so hard that it cracked through it all the way to a wall of rock separating between the beach a small spring that was on the other side- which created a small gap, so the spring’s water slowly found its way through it to the sea.

He had just destroyed an ecological system of the island -- in case it was not as forgotten place as it seemed -- and he did not even care.

Stiles jumped down the rock, picked up Helios’ krater and brought it with him to a spot at the heart of the herd. After making sure he collected the rest of his equipment, he held the two handles of the sun-chasing piece, and just as he had been told- he was taken back to Beacon Hills along with the entire cattle.

-

The krater was gone as soon as he released his hand from it. The afternoon scorching heat of the island around him had been replaced into a little chiller one, under the shadows of the trees.

He had had Beacon Hills’ preserve in his mind while touching the vase, and to his relief- this was where he ended up at.

The woods had seemed as the best choice since most chances were that no one would be there to witness the sudden appearance of non-typical Californian cattle out of the thin air, but it turned out that not so much when it came to keeping them all in one place until Gerard’s delegates come to confirm that the whole amount of the Bulls was there.

He had no choice but call the pack for help.

He had not seen them since a day prior to the one he had gone on to the Labour, as Derek had made everyone to use that day for shopping for school, which was about to begin after that weekend. It was crazy how close they were to the end of the summer, which made Stiles a little guilty to ask them to stop whatever they were doing and come. He knew how he would feel if he was asked to do that at the last days of summer, when all you have in mind is chilling for as long as you could still afford it, and so he kept thanking them apologetically over and over again.

All except one occasion where he did not feel honest enough to do so, though, when Isaac was the one to have the bad luck of stepping on a fresh stool. Stiles was too busy laughing to say anything, anyway.

Once the delegates finally arrived at the scene -- after taking their very sweet time -- they very clearly watched the Werewolves closely. There was a great tension in the air, and Stiles wished he had someone to pray to against the dispute that became more and more possible to break out.

At last, the group finished their check and one of them gave Stiles a confirming nod, while another gestured with his head for him to leave.

The pack followed Stiles, and not a lot of steps further from there Erica already jumped on him with one arm hugging his neck, and her cheek attached to his.

“Congrats, Stiles! I knew you were too badass to let any of those monsters take you down. Now we can rock the school’s halls with our matching Doctor Who shirts with quiet minds. I mean, that just now was the very final thing, right?”

Stiles laughed nervously. He really wished he could feel the relief Erica had, but he knew it would not last long for her too anyway. She was going to change her opinion on him very soon, after all.

“Well, hopefully, yeah,” he murmured while trying to carry both of them out of the forest, with Erica still hanging on his throat. “I mean, that was what we agreed on -- ”

“ -- So can you finally tell us who’s the other one beside you in 'we'?” Cora blocked his way, arms crossed impatiently and an eyebrow crooked expectedly.

Stiles’ heart hammered fast. It was crazy, the way she asked that like she had just heard his thoughts. Had she only acted friendly that entire time he had hung out with her at the Loft, waiting for this very moment?

Nevertheless, it was not the time for that yet- he could not let it happen at that moment, not before Gerard officially fulfilled his own part in the deal and delivered Hera’s promise to put a protection mark over Beacon Hills.

He looked back at the men that were left to handle the herd- they may have seemed to be out of a hearing distance, and yet the fact that they were just behind them did not make Stiles feel like it was a good idea.

“And don’t you dare to put it off until later.” Cora released one hand to point it at her Brother. “This marks the end of excuses, there’s nothing that can go wrong now from knowing. You saw the way they looked at us- something’s up.”

Derek scowled at her, but his expression told that he had nothing else to say against it. He undoubtedly was dying to know the truth himself, too.

Stiles knew talking logic to them would not help him get away this time, but it was not like revealing Gerard as his contact person with Hera was the only thing to be worrying about.

“I will tell. _Everything_ this time,” Stiles promised, and made sure to share a look with each and every one of the others to make sure everyone would see the emphasis he put on those words. “And by that I mean that I have something else that I’ve discovered during my time away, but only Derek- uh, and Cora, can hear it.” He hurried to mention the younger Hale’s name as it dawned on him that she deserved to be there, too, as Derek should not be the only one to consider here.

The two siblings’ eyes widen at Stiles’ words. Erica broke away her embrace, leaving Stiles to stand on his own at the end of the two’s stares at him.

“It’s about- ” Stiles swallowed, “it’s about the fire. It’s not like you know something false, but there was more to it behind the scenes.”

“Then why did you just hesitate to tell me about it too for a second there?” Cora got dangerously close to him. “If it’s about my family, it’s my business too. I don’t care that Derek is the Alpha, and that he won’t do anything to you even if it’s all related to you in some crazy way -- ”

Stiles took a step back. “Hey, I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. There was a complete another reason for why I thought of Derek first, though. The moment I tell you everything -- ”

“ -- You got closer to us so you could easily separate the two of us from the rest and finish what whoever you work for started, didn’t you?” Cora made him retreating further and further backwards, until Derek caught both of her arms from behind her.

“Cora, stop,” he asked her in a calm, steady voice.

“Shut the fuck up, Derek.” She struggled to shake his hands off of her. “I’m not gonna continuing letting him get away with his stupid secrets and little lies, not this fucking time!”

“We aren’t letting him go with anything,” he promised her in a firm voice, “but I won’t let you listen to this until I know you won’t do something impetuous.”

“He couldn’t know anything about it if he didn’t have his hand in this, don’t you fucking get it?!” She screamed. She moved her limbs all around as she tried to smash his foot under hers and to land a kick or an elbow at him.

“He was _your_ age, Cora! He wouldn’t do anything like that even if he could!”

Where did all that confidence come from? Stiles did not get it, but he needed as much of that as it was possible, just until the danger would be gone.

“What are you all staring at?” She turned her head to yell at the three Betas who were watching her stunned, ignoring any logic that her Brother tried to put in her head. “Go get him!”

“Nobody moves.” Derek had a hint of a growl in his voice. “And _you_ better quit it soon too.”

“Or what, you’ll finally fight me like a _real_ Alpha, instead of ordering around without backing up your dominance?! Are you so indifferent about what he has to tell us because you’re too much of a wimp to truly belong to those who carry the Hale name properly?”

Derek closed his eyes, but Stiles saw the red appearing in them right before they were shut.

“Shut up!”

The two siblings quieted down to stare at Stiles openly.

Stiles had enough standing by and letting the ugly, one-sided rivalry between the siblings to go on like that, with Derek keeping to take in everything his Sister scoffed him with.

“You’re right that he believes my innocence way too easily, but I won’t take your other claims about him anymore. I’m not trying to pretend that I have any idea what being a Hale means, or what a pack needs their Alpha to be, but I sure as hell prefer the way Derek presents your family than your stupid pride. The Pack is not perfect, but now that you’ll kick me out of it- _of the group_ for good, at least I’ll know I leave it in a much better state than it was a few months ago. And not just because you’re better off without me whenever there’s no need for an obscure search.”

It became harder and harder to keep the tough face on as it was painful to admit the last sentences out loud, even after all those long weeks of thinking about it unstoppably.

He could not believe that this was really it; this was the last time those faces who were surrounding him would look at him without bitterness: Erica’s worrying eyes would soon enough be back to the snobby glance she had used to have to carry on her when around him only a few months ago, and even much further steps back with the rest, who would find him as something worse than the nothing but idiot they had thought of him back then.

But people who sucked at friendship had a place only in Scott’s pack anyway, so it would stop being that big of a deal the moment he would return to meet his best friend at school every day.

“What could make a noisy brat like you to suddenly want to be kicked out of the pack?” Cora asked in a relatively calmer tone, although Derek still did not let her free.

Stiles sighed. “First, if you don’t listen to me, then just listen only to my heartbeat now. I’ve never used Derek to get into his- _your_ family, and I won’t let anyone do it to you two again.”

“ _Again_?” Cora parroted, confused, while Derek’s face changed to a few colours brighter.

With the way Derek seemed to want to shrink until he disappeared from the face of the Earth, Stiles realized that Derek had not told her about Kate- or the full story with her, that is.

“Sorry, I- I thought she knew,” he murmured, feeling how it was his turn to have the colour disappearing from his face.

Derek’s mouth tightened and he looked down. It did not look like Cora -- and the others who were there to listen -- was the only reason he reacted like that.

“And you didn’t know I was aware of this too,” Stiles swallowed. “Yeah, I should have figured it out too.”

 _Of course_ Stiles would be so stupid to figure things out on private issues only when he was presenting it out loud in the open, with a crowd to witness this as well.

Derek’s eyes darted, until he finally released his grip off of Cora.

“What? What is it about?” She turned her look between the two of them.

“And you should know that what I have to tell you is related to that, too,” Stiles added, still focusing at Derek. It was not his place to decide how and if Cora would hear about this, but he could not hide from her that he had that type of information neither.

“Derek?” Cora demanded.

 “I’ll tell you the full story when it’s the two of us on our own,” her Brother made up his mind at last.

She turned to face him, remaining quiet for a moment with her face down- until all at once her claws ripped through his shirt, into his skin.

“You don’t have the right to decide that!” She scratched him yet again. “I’m coming with you, no matter- ”

Right when she was about to attack him for the third time, she suddenly cut herself off, seemingly noticing how Derek did not even flinch from her thrusts, not to mention the blood that unusually stained more and more down his shirt.

“Why aren’t you healing?” She asked him through a surprised breath, then repeated it again with a wet voice: “ _Why aren’t you healing_?!”

“I won’t unless you stop,” Derek replied in a determined voice.

Cora’s breath hitched, and Stiles almost reacted the same.

He did not question for a second just how easy it was to crack the trust he built between Cora and himself, but how could Derek insist standing by his side so much that he would endanger his relationship with his lost-until-recently Sister?

“Give me the chance to let you hear the _full_ story the right way,” he said in a soft voice, almost pleading, “from the right person to tell you.”

Cora punched him in his chest for a few times, every hit being accompanied by a growl by her.

“Peter was less of a risk as an Alpha than you are,” she finally declared, then sprinted away from there, somewhere into the woods.

Derek let his wounds close at last. He threw something which made a clunky sound of keys to Isaac, and faced the three Betas.

“Go back to the Loft. Text me the moment she arrives or if there’s no sign of her within the next two hours.”

Then Derek threw another set of keys to Stiles, too, who was too astonished by the last exchange of words between the two Hales to catch it. When he picked it up from the ground, he recognized it as the keys to his Jeep.

“I brought your Jeep here, in case you'd have to get to the mediator right after we were done here. Take me to wherever, and let’s get it over with.”

Stiles did not know if he was in the right state of mind to drive safely, even while physically he was now more able-bodied than what he had been for a long time. At the same time, the way Derek walked away right at the moment he finished talking just showed he was not that much capable of concentrating on things like handling the car on the road, either.

He would suggest Derek for the two of them stay where they were instead of driving away – because, would it not be ironic if Stiles killed Derek, along with other of the town’s citizens who were just about to be released from the damn curse, in something like a car crash? -- but one sniff was enough to convince him their current location was way too stinky to make a deep talk like they were about to have, if any kind of talk at all.

Eventually, he just followed after Derek without further words. Sneaking glances to his sides, the rest of the pack was shocked into a complete silence, as well: Boyd’s forehead was wrinkled with concern, Isaac looked completely struck-dumb and unnerved and Erica’s face was too unreadable in the fast pace he had to walk after Derek- perhaps because her expressions kept changing with the storm of emotions inside of her.

Arriving by the parked cars, Stiles finally understood how thoughtful it was of Derek to think of that idea- and kind, too, although it was a feature that was not that surprising to witness Derek demonstrating it by that point.

“Thanks for bringing it,” Stiles murmured, not that low that a Werewolf’s ears would not catch, yet not clear enough to act like he expected to be replied to.

He sat behind the wheel, feeling so overwhelmed that he momentarily had a blackout about how to start the vehicle.

Where should they head to now? Where could be possibly a good place to do this?

As though it was not hard enough trying to think about it while not even knowing _how_ he was going to do that, or even what kind of point he was going to explain there, honestly.

But then Derek’s hazel eyes met his, and his heart reacted more violently than ever, like it was mocking him.

Maybe what Stiles should really ask as a treatment to the Labours was to have his heart exchanged- it seemed to create much more problems, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/173199781191/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-12)


	13. Chapter 13

Soft red was dawning on Beacon Hills as the sunset ornamented the horizon when Stiles and Derek arrived at the town’s lookout.

They had come from Stiles’ house, which they had stopped beforehand. Originally, it had been only so Stiles could change his torn clothes, but before Stiles had known it, he had also been pushed into the shower, from which he had gone out to catch the smell of Derek cooking downstairs. He had claimed that Stiles had eaten too much fast out recently because of him, but it had been clear to Stiles the real reason he had prepared something more serious than pasta or even a sandwich.

He had been trying to do something special in celebration of Stiles’ accomplishment, knowing that what Stiles would inform him would cancel any plan for it by the others, and had wanted to give him a chance to be honoured for that anyway, as long as he had not known whether Stiles had done something that would make him change his opinion on him or not. Perhaps, he had wanted to calm Stiles’ nerves by giving him a distraction by letting Stiles giving him a hand, too.

Either way, it was just plain fucked up; just what made Derek being so respectful, so fucking _nice_ to him? How could he know that whatever Stiles had done for his pack was so great that nothing could beat it?

Needless to say, it had taken forever for Stiles to eat, while constantly thinking about how the last thing he deserved was receiving a gesture like that by the one he was about to break such devastating news too.

They had gotten back to the Jeep after that, as there was no way they would do it there; it was his Father’s house too, after all, who had nothing to do with that.

He had not had a destination in mind even moments after he had sat behind the wheel; he knew he would need somewhere remote and isolated, with nothing and no one to interfere, while an abandoned building in the downtown was no option, as the air might feel like it still had remnants of the scent of stressed, terrified Betas for their Alpha to pick.

Eventually, the only place that had seemed to work with that formula was Beacon Hills lookout point, as any other location had felt for Stiles as an even less fitting for the kind confession he was about to deliver. It was a place he had already ruined its pureness, too, ever since he had used it as the hideous of the prisoner transport van they had kept Jackson in.

But the more he had driven, the more he had thought of why it just might be a bad idea after all: what if it would be misinterpreted by Derek as an attempt by Stiles to make him listen to everything while watching their town, so he would have a reminder to keep checking his perspective? And even if the tranquility of the place had been ruined for Stiles and others- Derek was not included, and yet, from that point on, the memory of that moment would become inevitable -- as though the burnt remaining of old house also being in the woods was not enough -- every time he would pass there. Even if finding a random rock to sit next to, somewhere else inside of the preserve seemed unfitting, might have been a better idea.

Nonetheless, that was where he had stopped his Jeep, and it all started to become not that important the more the two of them took more steps to the edge of the cliff.

The awkwardness in the air made it harder for Stiles to ignore his instincts to turn back and run. He did not even have the right to feel that, yet he felt like he would have a serious ticing fit if he would stop biting the bone of his thumb joint. His heart seemed to go even wilder the more he thought of Derek being able to hear it.

“You don’t limp anymore.”

Derek surprised Stiles to a stop, right before they sat down on the rocky, crunchy from fallen leaves ground.

It was weird how fast he got used to walking normally again; either that, or he was too full of thoughts to rejoice about it as much as he should have.

Stiles blinked, moving his previously injured leg in a way that had used to ache. “Oh, yeah. It- it’s been taken care of. The crack in the bone, I mean. I was healed to the point I don’t have it any bruise or even a scratch left- which is an achievement I haven’t reached for years now, so it tells something that it took a freaking god to make that possible. Surely not for a long time, though, knowing me.” He laughed nervously, then cleared his throat while running a hand over his hair, taking a place next to him. “Yeah, I wish it would’ve happened much earlier, back when I didn’t have that time to heal and you had to drive me everywhere, but still. Deus Ex Machina, and all that. Only literally.”

Derek frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Stiles mentally slapped himself on the forehead; now that he did not have to wince about his leg anymore, at least he still had his mouth to cause that to him.

“Ugh, shit, sorry. Well, I, uh, I got to meet him, when I was away. Zeus, that is. He helped me out and then healed me, and we had this talk where I got to be told about what I took you here to tell you about.”

Derek nodded. “How is he?”

Stiles stared at Derek yet again with surprise. He did not understand why he took his time like that instead of rightfully demanding to have meaningful details regarding the jarring event of the death of his family being uncovered as soon as possible. How could he look like he felt so concerned with Stiles’ private troubles, when he did not even know what kind of part Stiles took in the arsenal of his own family?

As hard of a topic as it was, they had the entire noon for him to prepare for it; and while neither this nor forever would ever help him stay entirely calm about it, he was suspiciously curious more about the background of how Stiles came to know about it -- even if it was no other than the ruler of the Deities himself -- than getting straight to the point.

Did he need to get some kind of confirmation, that Stiles was genuine and not making it all up?

As Derek stared at him back expectedly, Stiles cleared his throat again.

“Well, I guess know now why he got to be the god of lightning. He appears and then goes away within a blink, and leaves you feeling like shit. Like you’re completely powerless about your life.”

“So we know now that you’re nothing like him, though I’m not sure it’s that much of a relief, since you’re more like a sun.”

“A _sun_?”

“A strong one, like during summertime: you always stick around for a long time, and leave a headache no matter how much you try to prepare for it.”

Stiles gaped in shock, but his original reaction was changed once he realized something. “Hey, what the hell, you can’t even _have_ a headache!”

“You were the one to prove me that I don’t need the pain to feel the sensation of it.”

Stiles snorted. “Are you sure it’s not because of the trip to Redding that made you hallucinating? Though if you were where I’ve been, you’d probably have an honest migraine.”

Derek nodded as he recalled. “This thing you touched took you somewhere. What exactly was that?”  

“Remember the Portkey, from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? It was the last one we’ve watched during our Harry Potter marathon, I think, before we couldn’t take Isaac’s whines of watching a film where everyone has British accents anymore. And don’t say you didn’t watch it too above that book you read, I know it was you who sneakered the loudest when Snape shoved at Harry and Ron’s heads. There’s no way you didn’t read the books too -- ”

“ -- So that thing was like a Portkey?”

Stiles closed his mouth as in quick internal rewind and opened it again to jump right to the point he dropped off of. “Yeah, exactly. Only the version of Helios, the god of the sun. Anyway, it took me to the Canary Islands- to one which was turned out to be owned by Gerard himself, even though the Argents are supposed to be French and those islands are Spanish territory. Even their original name is Spanish- Islas Canarias? Something like that?”

“It means something close to _Islands of the Dogs_ ,” Derek noted.

Stiles laughed in shock. “Are you serious?! Man, there’s not enough hate in this people. So yeah, it was full of mutants and not exactly Werewolves- ”

Stiles’ smile faded once he caught himself having a light chat instead of being in the middle of an explanation of a much more important issue. How could he let his ADHD take a hold of his even at that moment?

He lowered his head, biting his lip. He had gotten to a point where he was so used to act like the mention of Gerard’s name did not impact him in another way than what the rest expected it to, that it took more than uttering his name for Stiles to stop himself.

Those ugly times were over- and they both were sitting there for that exact reason.

Derek’s brows were wrinkled with worry again, almost the same way he sometimes looked at Cora during her rage bursts, when he knew that nothing he said would calm her down.

Had Erica been right? Did Derek really use that distraction technique every time he tried to calm Stiles’ nerves down? Did Derek really have no intention to comfort himself a bit with Stiles’ ridiculousness before they stopped circling around the subject?

Stiles really needed to work on his weakness of being that easy caused to forget, ADHD or not.

“I have two bad things to tell,” he finally continued as he released a sigh. “Both of them will make you want to murder me on the spot and leave my body to rot here, but I really need you to wait with it and do it only after I’ll be officially told that I’m finally finished with my duties. Oh, and please find a way to get my Father here, ‘cause he really doesn’t deserve to live with that mystery because of stuff that is my own fault.”

One of the corners of Derek’s pursed lips twitched.

“I’m _serious_. Even if I didn’t lose that fragile-little-human excuse a long time ago, you’d totally forget any moral aspect you have developed for me recently. And that’s totally understandable, I have nothing to say against it. But please, just promise me that no matter what, you won’t try to get in my way yet, so you’ll have your time to take whatever revenge you want without it having similar implications on you or your new pack, okay? Unless I’m done with the Labours, this place can turn into the gods’ playground at any given moment- what we’ve been through this far most probably have only been only a _taste_ of it.”

Derek exhaled heavily through his nostrils at the view before them, reluctant to take him seriously, but after a moment eventually nodded.

“Okay. Good. Okay,” Stiles rubbed his face for the who-knows-which time. “So, me and you- no, wait, you won’t understand if I get right to it, that’s not an early point enough to start. Or maybe it is earlier than jumping right to how Hera sought Gerard’s help?” Stiles groaned. “Okay, let’s rewind on everything for a second. Nothing will make sense anyway before you get to know about Zeus and my Parents first.”

And so, Stiles shared his full background story with Derek: what had happened before and after his birth -- including what he had learned from Athena about Deucalion too -- and how Hera had just gathered more and more hostility toward him the more time had passed.

He was rumbling more than recounting the story, still in the process of setting up the details of the chain of events himself, as every few weeks, he had another piece of information to add to what he had been convinced to be the full picture, and then rebuilding everything once more.

Derek had listened to everything in a complete silence, barely moving any muscle, if at all. When the time to tell about Aphrodite’s forecast came, after Stiles had checked over and over again to make sure he had not left any detail out- the nature around them seemed to quiet down itself in anticipation for whatever that was about to occur next.

At this point, Stiles had to choose his words more carefully, instead of shooting the mess that was in his head out. His leg shook faster the closer he got to the bottom line, and he had to put his hands under his other one so they would not be waved everywhere uncontrollably and hit Derek in the face accidentally.

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, “breathe.”

“Why are you being so much calm about that?” Stiles’ voice came out almost blaming, even though he was the last one to have the right to judge Derek at that moment.

“Because everything that you’ve told me until now leads to one conclusion only: an accident.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Derek kept on before he managed to say anything.

“Your life may be full of unfortunate events that were affected by Hera’s different attempts to get to you, but even if the people around you got hurt worse than you did- it’s not on you. If you didn’t dodge the bullets like you had to, it could have ended worse for them too. You only did your job. That what I told Cora too, every time she tried following you: it can end badly when you’re not aware of someone’s present.”

“She tried to follow me?” Stiles parroted. He could not believe how lucky he was for not being disclosed.

Derek huffed. “I’m surprised you trusted her that much, considering how you knew her about as much as you had known me at the start.”

Really, just how naïve could Stiles have been, no matter how distracted he had been? To think Derek had covered him more than he could have hoped for; actually, it was more than he had known he had needed to trust him to do so. Not to mention what it meant about how much Derek had to trust _him_.

Stiles can only imagine the number of fights the Alpha had had with the Pack about it, despite the very limited information he had had.

Even if Derek’s senses could read Stiles that good, and he had been with him in a couple of extreme situation to get to know a thing or two about his morals...

Maybe Stiles should have prepared something beforehand- some kind of a gesture good enough to grant him as a thanking gift, for suffering yet another betrayal for the sake of this shitty town. Not that Stiles would have expected him to accept it, of course.

And yet, at that moment he was acting way too idiotically, no matter that there was no kind of behaviour he found close enough to be considered as appropriate.

He thought again of Derek’s analysis: because it was one thing to say that about the way Stiles’ life had been affected directly, but it was absurd to relate that to the Hales’ calamity.

“Derek, if you’re implying that my relation to the fire is accidental- then no, it’s not. What I’ve been trying to tell you until now is that it was as purposely as it can be. The very original reason behind planning a crisis to happen to your family was me, and only later it was developed into a personal act.”

Derek’s brows slumped deeply, and Stiles took another deep breath, closing his eyes.

Oh, gods. Here it was.

He was actually doing this.

“Hera- She wanted to find someone who’s… suited me the best? You know, like completing each other in the best way? She knew there had to be someone that I have the potential for that kind of a bond with. So she turned to Aphrodite, to find that… matching personality, and do whatever is needed to make sure our ways will never be crossed but remain separated forever, as far as possible from each other’s, for the rest of our lives.”

When Stiles opened his eyes, Derek’s quiet gaze was fixed on the view in front of him.

“Kate grew up to be a Hunter, was taught to act by certain codes. But the reason she broke them wasn’t that she was raised to be mad. I mean, not that I’m trying to say she was normal regardless. You can only imagine what kind of parenting- or lack of parenting skills, to be exact- _Anyway_. At some point in time, Gerard befriended Hera, and they got together to turn his daughter into the worst kind of a psycho. She knew she’d come with the perfect move to make sure you’d run away without looking back and perform it flawlessly, since you’re the one who has it: the match to my heart.”

Stiles released a bitter laugh. He realized that his voice came out a bit shaky, like he was on the verge of tears, even though he could not feel any emptier inside.

Why did he present it like he was _confessing_? They were not even emotionally invested with each other platonic-wise, even if he cared about him at this point more than the irritation mixed with the sexual crush he had had for him in the start, so why using the words of outsiders about their relationship, like a _heart_? How could a _heart_ even connect between fates and cause something so tragic?

Derek did not respond, nor reacted at all; he did not run, or even seemed like he wanted to punch him, which was really undeserving. Now that he knew the truth, why was he still holding back like he still was not exposed to just how much Stiles and his existence screwed his life?

Nevertheless, he just kept sitting there next to him: the man who so-called could make him the happiest, yet was the cause he had turned into the gloomy self he was.

“Why did you want to let me know all of that?” Derek snapped suddenly. “Why did you feel a need to apologize, to take the blame?”

“I- I know that any apology will be pointless.” Shit, Stiles was just so bad at this; even having all the time in the world to think of the right words could not have prepared him enough for this moment. “But by letting you know, um, I mean, at least -- ”

“ -- I know you,” Derek declared, just like he had done way back when he had tried to push Stiles into investigating about all of this; his eyes darted between Stiles’, searching for the unarguable proof so Stiles could not dare to tell him otherwise. “You’re easy to feel guilt, but you have too much logic to self-shaming yourself for this. You’re too aware of what your reaction would have been if our positions were the opposite, aren’t you?”

Stiles swallowed under Derek’s knowing look.

There was no escaping from the truth: one of the main reasons he was feeling guilty was that he had to constantly push down the knowledge that there was nothing that he could have done to prevent the disaster, like he did not willingly do things wrong enough to deserve having that consoling thought, which other, more normal people than him, who were better at socializing and understanding others’ emotions, would not have had.

“You’re not a bad person for that, Stiles.” Derek’s gaze was just too sincere for saying something like that. “I appreciate you for that, because otherwise, it would have been harder for me to handle this.”

It took everything for Stiles to not shake the denier until he would get some sense into him.

“I just, said,” he talked slowly to make the other’s block of a mind easier to understand. “Your _family_ was burned alive because-- ”

“ -- The Deities punished me, but I don’t think the reason for that is on you. Even before Kate, I’ve made enough sins to deserve it.”

 _What_.

It was not one of the reactions Stiles had expected from Derek, according to his few-levels-above-other-people familiarity with him, but it did not matter anyway.

Stiles was _not_ going to let this getting there.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Dude. You’re _so_ not doing this right now. Even if you still can’t unload the frustration on me right now, taking it all on yourself is _not_ an option. Where the hell did it even- Fuck, I know you have some complex defect going on in there, but -- ”

“ -- You’re not aware of everything, Stiles. And maybe they don’t care enough to be too. When you were first told you’re a Demigod, they didn’t tell you about Deucalion even though you’ve just faced him, isn’t it? Either they don’t see everything like they claim to, or they don’t care enough to tell unless you somehow make them to.”

Stiles groaned. “If it’s about you being a douchebag sometimes, I swear -- “

“ -- I’m not talking about how I... treat people. Not anymore,” he corrected himself. “For some time, I thought it was the reason, but it would make more sense if I was sentenced by the same way I sinned.”

Stiles was taken aback by that- what else could happen in Derek’s life that was as bad as Kate’s doings, especially in _his_ eyes?

This time it was Derek to take the rule of the tensed one, suddenly looking too ridiculously little in front of the large scenery in front of them, considering to the things he had done for this town.

“I used to think I found that person too- the one who completes me the most, more than anyone will ever be able to,” he started, voice weak. “She was my age, and I- I was too young to think straight. I don’t even know what made me think it was legitimate to force her into my world, or to ask this favour from a total stranger- “

Derek grunted, his voice almost coming out as a howl. When Stiles looked down, he saw claws attempting to grow into the rock which his fingers held onto tightly.

“Not everyone can survive the bite, so I had to finish things sooner.”

“When Peter offered it to me, he said _if_ _it doesn’t kill you_ ,” Stiles recalled.

Derek turned his head sharply to him and frowned. “Peter offered you the bite?”

Stiles shook his head. “Once, when we were searching for you, but nothing happened. Carry on.”

Derek closed his eyes, seemingly struggling with the battle of dominance between the emotions that were storming inside of him, until he opened them to gaze away again, refocused.

“She was never asked to be turned. She wasn’t even aware of the Werewolves’ world. And yet I’ve decided for her, and her body refused to be changed into something she was not prepared to be; did not deserve its suffering.”

Stiles had been already told by Derek that he had a kill which he did not forgive himself about, but the story itself sounded to Stiles like something he should be close to Derek to hear about, closer to him than what he saw himself to be to him- but at the same time, something about it sounded familiar.

And then it dawned on him: could it be the reason Derek had been so anxious about getting him involved, unless he himself could tell what he was, instead of being entered into a title someone told him he was so-called included in?

It amazed Stiles how Derek had become so blind by years of living in his own puddle of guilt that he could ignore any important fact and simple logic. There was no way he was too ignorant to simply not get it on his own.

“Okay, that’s enough for being a mopey wolf for today. So as someone who killed a man once himself, and has read the entire _Odyssey_ , _Iliad_ and Hesiod’s _The Theogony, The Works and Days_ , along with any literary analysis of them that I could find- this story is clearly not the kind of stuff the gods punish humans for. They also wouldn’t use that kind of punishment, even if they’d have somehow thought that your misjudgment of the consequences and rashness was something worth to be punished for. And if there is one thing I can tell for sure after meeting a few gods up close, is that none of them cares about you to even be aware when you do something sinful. But as I was a special case myself, what really happened was that instead of filling only my life with tragedies- Hera decided you had to share the burden with me. She got _you_ cursed instead of waiting for my own curse to impact you.”

“So I became to be the worst at protecting those I care about,” Derek summarized. It was not clear from his voice whether he resented that fact, or still did not quite believe it was a decree of Olympus and not his decisions that brought bad occurring upon him.

“Cursed. You got _cursed_ to be that and weren’t aware of it, so you have to stop with that attitude. Like I had no choice in being a child of Zeus, you didn’t have the abilities as a mortal to notice or escape from a god’s trap. It was a younger, weaker and inexperienced you against a supernal power, there was nothing you could do. And whether Kate had always been that insane anyway or not- Scott told me of her acting skills. While visiting Allison, her fake charm sometimes confused him as well, even while he was well aware. That’s how I figured out… of...” Stiles waved aimlessly, knowing there was no need to complete the sentence.

Derek dryly quirked a half smile. “Good old Stiles. Always figuring it out.”

Stiles felt the blood leaving his face.

He was so stupid. How could he not realize until now that he was treating an awareness of such an intimate subject so indifferently and carefree?

“Shit, fuck, I -- ”

“ -- Stop,” Derek cut him out immediately, voice dry like he really did not care. “I’m just surprised of myself for being so surprised about you, that’s all. But with everything you’ve just told me, I just need to know one thing, and answer seriously.” He made Stiles meet his eyes. “You better not make a joke about it or I’ll treat this talk like one huge prank as well.”

Stiles frowned. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

“Tell me the truth. Did they make me mad as well?”

Stiles was lucky he was too shocked to make any sound, because he wanted to laugh out loud. _Desperately_.

Not because he thought what he had just heard was funny, of course, but because of its ridiculousness, in the worst way there was.

What could make him think that? Did he think only someone too out of it would fall for someone like Kate, and let her manipulate him so she could get any piece of information she wanted to achieve from him by being with him?

Stiles may be around the same age Derek had been back then, but he still could tell, only by his friend’s great misjudgment moments, that it was not out of the ordinary to make mistakes like that.

But what could he know about what was going inside the head of someone who lost his entire family in such a brutal way?

“Derek,” Stiles said, keeping his tone as gentle as possible, “what are you -- ”

“ -- I don’t open up, to anyone. Especially about that. I refused to talk about it even with Laura. She had always thought I took the pain of grief too hard.” Derek released a short, sour laugh. “But I could never tell her- not why the fire happened, and not what made me want to destroy myself more than everything, because the fire is not the only reason to why I feel guilty.”

Stiles did not have a lot of patience for holding in the secret about working with Gerard for much longer, especially the more they kept talking about Kate; it all just made him feel hypocrite.

But seeing Derek being so used to be angry with himself that he cannot forgive himself even after knowing the truth was even worse.

“We’re basically having a forgive-me-father-for-I-have-sinned moment going on here anyway, so before you continue, let me just remind you that, you being not that responsible teenager and messing things up? Some of that was done for you, purposely. On the other hand, me not being a responsible teenager and… Oh, it's like, remember when I ruined your Sister’s grave, and then sent you straight to a police investigation right afterwards?”

Oh, if Stiles had a dollar for every time he wanted to throw himself as far as he could from the person he was talking to- this time away from the cliff they were sitting at.

“I mean, obviously you do, there’s no reason you won’t. Ugh, anyway. That one? Was all on me. Not everyone got reasons, but you _do_.”

Derek nodded like he accepted that, although Stiles had a feeling it was for the wrong reasons.

“But you do regret it,” Derek pointed out. “You don’t feel about it the same thing you felt before you realized something bad happened, do you?”

Stiles frowned, puzzled.

“It is not only my family that I miss.”

Derek locked his eyes on his, like he was waiting to catch the moment where the wheels in Stiles’ mind would stop moving when he would realize what that meant- following with expressions of hate and disgust towards him.

Only there was absolutely nothing that Stiles could think about- what thing that was before the fire could Derek feel bad about missing?

“Is it the life you had back then?” Stiles guessed. “I saw you in the picture of one of the old basketball team- I bet they all look so tired less from the game and more because of the number of photos that failed since you had to close your eyes every time.” Stiles chuckled, but the smile disappeared almost immediately. “Is that what you miss, your friends and normal high school life you had back then?”

Derek shook his head. “I had nothing of that anymore after Paige- After her death. I left it all behind, and I couldn’t let myself to even have my relationship with my family. I lied about going to basketball practices while I was wondering around as far as I could. Far enough from home that there was no one to watch me, and into the arms of the only thing which has ever succeed to distract me completely from anything else.”

Stiles’ eyes widen as the realization finally hit him.

“No, you’re wrong. I know what you think, what you _believe_ to think, but you don’t. You mix between two things!”

“I _know_ when I miss something, Stiles,” Derek insisted firmly, “and I miss...”

He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself, but after a couple of times, he seemed to realize it was a lost case.

Stiles sent a hand to put on his shoulder, and realized what he was doing only when Derek looked at it. He retreated it right away, but Derek did not seem to care regardless.

“Derek,” Stiles hurried to say something before he would lose him into his self-loathing, “you didn’t truly know her back then.”

“Then I miss the way I _did_ know her.” Derek raised his voice momentarily just to continue in a small voice: “I still do.”

“But it was not really her, she wouldn’t react like that in a real relationship when she really cares for someone -- ”

“ -- How do you know? She faked her fondness, but it was still her natural attitude.”

“And that's what you miss- her attitude, not _her_.”

Stiles waited for that sentence to sink in, even if Derek did not seem too willing to accept it, before he continued.

“Any bad person could fake it, it doesn't mean you miss them. You miss what you had, what you thought was real. If she came to you now, you wouldn't want to run into her covered-in-your-family's-blood arms, right? The delusion was not her, it was what Hera made her having with you. You should be angry with both of them, but not with yourself."

Derek remained quiet.

Stiles wanted so badly to pull him closer into his lap; to brush his hair and let him release into his chest any hard feeling he had toward himself. He deserved so much to have this relief to fulfil him in the place of everything that welcomed him with a hit to the guts every day -- shame, self-blame and anger --  first thing when he woke up.

He knew it would take a long process until those thoughts stopped haunting Derek as frequently as they currently did, and that they would never really disappear- but even then, he would have never let go of Derek until he was finally able to stop acting so harshly with himself all the time.

In a world where he did not have to play a stinky traitor, that is; where they could still hang out, as a pack or not, without having reasons like that to hold them back, if that was even possible.

Maybe that was it- the way they were meant to each other in a negative way, as in meant to never be associated, at any version of a parallel universe.

“You better get going,” Derek said, suddenly standing up and turning away- and not even to the direction of the Jeep.

“Wait!” Stiles got up to walk right after him, walking faster to match his footsteps.

Derek stopped, and only half-turned to his direction. “I’ll be fine by foot. You should go and not hold the end of your Labours for too long. You’re starting school on Monday, too. You should get some rest in the little time you have left.”

“Derek, wait!” Stiles called after him when he turned his back to him again.

This time Derek had his whole body facing him, and Stiles did not know if it was a good thing or not.

There were so many things that Stiles wanted to say, but had no idea how to express himself. He felt a little like being in a video game, where he had too many options of dialogue to choose as to what the character should say next, and he had no idea which one to pick.

Or perhaps, this was after he had chosen all the options he had been given in the start, and now he had only one available left, but it was not what the gamer wanted to say at all, as they knew it would not lead the scene the way they personally wanted it to go.

It would have been messed up how he dealt with it by imagining himself as a video game character, if it was not to how crazily his life looked just like a fantasy story: from an average teenager with boring, quiet life where no one gave a shit about him, to a Demigod one who fought mythological monsters and occasionally Werewolves regularly.

But nothing seemed too unrealistic to be true as the way Derek looked at him at the moment, with patience he completely did not deserve, and it hurt.

Stiles took a big breath, which did nothing to fill his empty chest.

“There’s the other thing I promised to tell you. But remember, don’t do anything about it until -- ”

“ – _Stiles_.” Derek’s eyebrows raised in anticipation.

Stiles wished the wind would not have brushed his face like it tried to comfort him. He hated even more how it was too light to do anything to Derek, who looked exhausted after the amount of energy he had spent on the heart-to-heart they had just had. It just might be the longest one he had allowed himself to have in many years, if he had even had others.

At least he could say that he used all of his chances to fight Derek’s insecurities to the very end, as long as he could.

“Gerard is my mediator.”

Derek’s eyes roamed everywhere – to any point that Stiles was not at, that is -- and Stiles forgot how to breathe for a few seconds.

Derek was undoubtedly taken by surprise, which was how Stiles felt himself. He had kept assuming that the Alpha had accepted him into his pack mainly to be able to watch him closely, but only by that reaction it was clear that there was nothing of that sort at all in the origin of the reason; it appeared that the night after the Hydra Labour was somewhat enough for him to not suspect Stiles.

But after the statement was finally out of his system, he was glad that he had never gotten to fully enjoy the awareness of Derek’s trust. Keeping the shame within seemed like nothing compared to releasing it out and realizing just how big it really was, and not only that, but it stayed tied to him for him to drag it along for the rest of his life.

Stiles did not get to know what Derek thought of him after that, though, because the moment he let his sight drifted away- Derek was gone from sight.

With no other business to do there, Stiles headed to the haunt of the man at the heart of that situation.

-

“What? What do you mean by still owning you two more Labours?!”

Stiles was astonished by the mediator’s words, to say the least.

It was the first time in almost two months that he was face to face with the manipulating old man, who had not let him get to his room inside the crossing home, nor did he went out even for the last Labour, which, in retro-respective, should have been treated more suspiciously.

And so, when Stiles had recognized the men from earlier that afternoon at the facility’s parking lot, who had nodded him to follow them- he had thought it would be the biggest surprise of that evening. He had hoped so, too, as he had remained tense throughout the entire walk there, preparing to be led into an ambush -- or just any other kind of stinky move would occur -- which would finish him before Hera and her followers officially backed off of Beacon Hills for good.

Even though none of the possible options that had gone through his mind happened, the news he would eventually get in the unventilated, detestable room, was something he could not imagine in his worst scenarios of how the meeting would go.

His heart sunk, and he felt the blood being drained from his face with it. He refused to believe that his promise for Derek had been for nothing, and that they had to wait two more weeks- unless the added Labours would not be unfairly crazier and even more barely possible than the ones he had had until now.

“May I ask why you insist calling it _Labours_?” Gerard interlocked his fingers on his legs, an amused half of a smile on his face. “Hera _chose_ to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of redemption, after all. With that in mind: In your opinion, mister Stilinski, do you think you’ve performed well in the last two months?”

“Yes!” Stiles answered immediately, honestly confident in himself. “Every single task you’ve given me I’ve completed to the fullest and done it right on time, just like we agreed on! So unless Hera suddenly realized that there was no need for stupid deeds as a proof for worthiness since I’ve been entitled to it right from the start, I really don’t get what the hell you’re talking about.”

The other side of Gerard’s mouth rose up. “We both may agree that, in the case before us, the decree is not quite in a high level, as I find turning one against his allies to be the best way to take away the right to live to the potential of his inherent glory as a Demigod.”

Stiles made a full-body eye roll.

“But,” Gerard continued, “it is her decision which is final. The same goes here, where on two occasions you failed yourself of earning your price of freedom.”

“ _But_ _how_?!” Stiles stretched the question in almost like a whine.

“First off, you were explicitly asked to deal with the beasts on your own. Go back to your confrontation with the Hydra- did you really go there all alone, like you were asked to?”

Stiles gaped. “Are-Are you- They _sneaked_ after me! I didn’t tell them anything or hinted them to do so in any way! I had no control over this!”

“But you did let them help you putting it down, now didn’t you?” The grey eyebrows of the old man rose up with so-called hidden satisfaction. “It appears that your mighty strength was not enough to hold the Hydra down while you were taking care of its heads.”

Stiles stretched his face downward with the heel of his palms with frustration. As cloud-headed as he had been during the battle, he could remember clearly that he had feared this exact option enough to not let the Pack help him as much as they had wanted to.

The way the situation had been treated was not ideal, but he had still made sure that everyone would be completely passive when it came to the act itself.

“But _I_ was the one who killed it!” Stiles argued on. “It is what _I_ have done, on my own, that put it down!”

“Like I have said.” Gerard seemed rather glad to repeat himself. “It is Hera’s decision which is final.”

As much as it was annoying, he knew it was like speaking to the wall- and one who would only be entertained by his futile attempts by that.

Stiles groaned loudly, and started walking around the room restlessly. “Fine, so this one... Okay, whatever. But how could there be another one where I broke another rule?”

“Truly, no more rules of the agreement were violated. However, as one who seeks to prove himself worthy of the title of a hero by the Deities, there are morality conventions which must be considered, or all those Labours are pointless.”

Stiles had no idea what it could be, but he prepared himself for a foolish excuse.

Gerard coughed black goo into the tissue in his hand; it looked like the son of a bitch took a way too great delight by that conversation. “A true hero is allowed to enjoy his reputation, but is expected to refuse any material reward which does not equally confer him with the pure happiness he had brought upon other through assuring their well-being. Has this thought crossed your mind when your friend, the vet, offered you a financial remuneration?”

 _That traitor fucker_ , Stiles cursed in his heart, facing himself against the wall. He should have known that Deaton had been aware of this hero-morality bullshit that Gerard was talking about.

Grabbing his hair, he started shaking with rage, and even felt heated by it like he had never experienced before. As though it felt sorry for not showing him enough mercy to not put him in that situation, the luck played a great role here by not letting him losing himself into it.

Sighing deeply, he turned back to Gerard. “Are you even one to talk about morals, with that island full of helpless mutants of yours?”

“Even the world of the Olympians has an ecosystem; for every monster that is defeated, a new one must rise so the hunger for challenges of young Demigods like yours would not consume them.”

There was no hesitation or regret in him, and Stiles could not believe _he_ was the direct descendant of a Deity between them,

“You call that a _conservation project_?!” Stiles gesticulated while talking, feeling like going out of his mind. “Can’t you just leave it to the gods to declare dumb stuff like that as an explanation to why they can never think when they’re horny? But hey, who knows, maybe we also are the only thing that you can play with at your advanced age.”

Gerard attempted at a look of pity, it seemed like- only he was so self-centred that it did not look as convincing as the rest of the expressions included in his impressive stock of fake masks. “Oh, when will you learn that being cheeky can abstain you of others’ good intentions?”

“If Hera is the one who’s responsible for the Labours from now on, I don’t have a reason to filter myself. Unless you were talking about Hera, that it is a little funny to call her decisions _good intentions_ , especially considering she tried to sabotage one of my Labours once.”

“But why, of course they are- she agreed to give you another chance for each failure of yours. Not only that, but for those additional two Labours, as you refer to them, you’re not even limited in time. They may be final, but do not disregard a mercy of a Deity when it tends to your favour.”

Stiles massaged his temples; the smells in the room, especially after a long day he had been through -- or two days, technically, as the journey through time made him jump almost a day forward -- gave him a serious headache.

“Okay, if you say so. Just give me the details.”

Gerard’s smile was uglier than the dark liquid he cleaned off of his face.

Stiles seriously could not be thankful for Scott more than that moment for putting Gerard in this state.

“At their wedding ceremony, Hera granted Zeus with a tree of golden apples, which she asked Gaia to foster for her. It is believed the Apples are as shiny as the light the evening is welcomed by, which belongs to the Nymph keepers of the Apples- the Hesperides. Your mission is to bring those Apples to me.”

“Where is this tree?”

“This you will have to figure out on your own.”

“Well, it looks like research time.” Stiles’ mood was lightened up just slightly- at least it was something much closer and true to his nature, unlike fighting more monsters. “Sounds good to me.”

“Do not take it that lightly- this time you will not do jobs which my men couldn’t handle, but missions Hera herself thought of. As talented Demigod as you may be, competing against the wit of the Deities will be the hardest things you will ever do.”

Stiles thought of earlier that day, on the face Derek had made when he had told him the truth.

“Well, she definitely has a contest.”

-

Stiles sent Derek a text about the two new Labours, but even when he woke up at early noon the following day, there was no response from him. It was not like he could expect anything at that moment, but he hoped that he would respect Stiles’ warnings about acting on his anger too soon.

As for the Labour itself- He felt too emotionally exhausted to think about it, as his head too full of anxiety to think of anything related to that at all. It was a good thing that at least he had no time limit to worry about.

Besides, a day of being the old, ordinary Stiles for a change and clean his head may do more good than harm.

Although, since it was the last day of the summer vacation- Stiles did not really know what to do with himself. Throughout the whole summer, he had fantasized of dipping in some pool or lake, enjoying the summer heat for a change- but he did not really feel like leaving home that day, aside of finally driving to the gas station without worry about his previously injured leg. He tried just return to his usual hobbies and play some online games, and yet he kept losing his focus.

Lucky him, he eventually was requested once again for the rescue- this time to support Scott while he was getting his long-anticipated tattoo.

Stiles knew right away it would be a bad idea, as needles were an evil enemy which none of his Demigod powers or abilities could do anything against. As a simple man with Greek warrior genes in his veins, all he wanted to do was running away while screeching hysterically, and understandably so- but even that could not stop him from having an excuse to meet again his best buddy after such a long while.

And it was a chance to learn again how to do friendship the right way, too, instead of betraying and leaving them to suffer at their own with no support.

So he wore his best model of a fake smile, along with a flannel shirt like he was the same old Stiles from the beginning of that summer, and went out of the car to give him a tight hug once he stopped by his house to pick him up.

Scott did not ask too many questions, but the few he did were mostly to make sure Stiles was doing okay right now physically. Stiles hurried to change the subject to lighter issues like Scott’s work of self-improving that summer, until they made it to the tattoo clinic.

One swoon and a terrible fail of meaningless striped tattoo later -- apparently Scott’s body hated it as much as Stiles did --  they even had a chance to meet Lydia and Allison on a red light, and it almost felt like nothing had really changed.

 _Almost_ as in not really, since a lot had happened the last time they had talked to each other- even if right now it felt for Stiles like it had occurred centuries ago, in a complete another lifetime.

They both looked quite cheerful- her expressions were much lighter than they were on the last day of school, which was the most important part. He even tried to call them through the window, but they drove away despite the traffic light still not being green.

Lydia was stunning as ever, but he did not feel like taking a picture of her and hanging it on the wall like always, nor did he felt his heart shrinking like it had used to when she drove away. It was weird for Stiles how surprisingly well he had learned to accept her loyalty to Jackson, without having time to think about it so much during the months after he had gotten released of his Kanima shape.

But he could not think much about Lydia anyway since the situation was mostly about Allison and Scott, which made the two different vehicles -- which fortunately were the only ones around -- to play some weird, most definitely dangerous game of hard to get, where eventually they both stopped in the middle of the road, waiting for the other to make the next move.

He did not realize how convenient it was to get himself back into that perhaps supernatural but still very teenagerly, bitter-sweet love story, until the car before him was suddenly shaken, and the girls’ screams were heard all the way to where his Jeep was standing at.

Stiles and Scott shared a short look before they jumped out of the vehicle and ran to the still jolting car.

Lydia managed to escape into the open, but seemed to try getting back inside when Allison, who was still in the car- did not answer her calls.

Stiles got Lydia by her waist, and pulled her away.

“I’ll get her, I promise! We’re taking her out!” He shouted over her outcries, and turned her away.

Looking at her car, he was shocked to find out that a deer was the thing that had crashed into it. It kept shaking its head, which was tilted to the direction of Allison’s seat, as it was stuck in the windscreen, almost like it tried to reach to her.

Scott managed to rescue her just as the deer found his way out, shaking pieces of glass off of his antlers. He still had more stuck into his skin, but untypically to animals- it did not let out a loud noise of displeasure over that, or acted hysterically; it was like it had the ability to stand the pain, and have a sense of patience for saving the time of taking care of it for later.

Stiles did not even need their eyes to meet – with a look of an equal level of intelligent from both sides -- to know right away that it was far from being a normal animal, though not a pure one like in the case of Artemis’ Hind.

As the mysterious creature was limping into the dark woods at the side of the road, Stiles dashed as fast as he could back to his Jeep.

Scott and Lydia called after him, confused- but it did not stop him from reaching to his bag in the back of the car, taking out his bat and sprinting into the preserve himself, calling back to Scott that he was on it and to keep an eye for any more trouble.

It was not like he liked the idea of leaving Scott to watch over Lydia rather than himself -- Allison had already proven just how well she could take care of herself but he out-experienced him when it came to fights with creatures similar to that one, and therefore he just went with the decision his instincts had made for him before he could have thought about it.

He tracked down the deer’s footsteps, but at some point it just stopped. Nothing on his surroundings was a good hiding place for something the size of a deer, and it was not like it could jump up a tree.

Could it have been a Weredeer? Huh, like there were not enough weird kinds of shapeshifters to somehow decide to route their paths to Beacon Hills.

“I got a bottle full of Hydra venom and I’m not afraid to use it, so come on out now,” Stiles called into the silence around him. “And this bat alone defeated more giant monsters than you can imagine, unless you already know who I am.”

Stiles stood there for a few more seconds, but no sign of a living thing nearby was captured.

He sighed, but as he turned to move away he noticed something gleaming on one of the trees’ trunks. Getting closer, it was clearly a drop of blood.

All of a sudden, a squirrel jumped down the same very tree, and began running amok deeper into the woods. Stiles went right after it, even when it changed its body into a rabbit. It would have outrun Stiles within a shorter time if it was not injured, but at some point, the gape became too much anyway- and so Stiles threw his bat at the point he predicted the creature to get to, since even when it tried to run through bushes, he was doing so in a too obvious way for someone with senses who hunted the impossible-to-hunt beast.

The rabbit received the blow and rolled on the ground until it crashed into one of the trees. It procrastinated enough for Stiles to jump after it and seized it in his hands.

The creature desperately tried to wiggle itself free, but Stiles kept the hold tight with all of his might- even when it changed itself into an alligator, which still was not a match against Stiles’ strength.

Stiles waited until it would get tired to a stop instead of ending this quick and choke it; he still did not trust himself to be able to function properly if he tried.

 _I’m sorry, I promise I won’t hurt you or your friends! Just let me go!_ The voice in Stiles’ head begged.

Wait, what?

It was good to know that it was not a normal shapeshifter who had to get back to his true, naked form to talk to him, but hearing someone in his head made Stiles himself to feel very, very naked, even if he had already been through that experience once.

“Oh yeah, of course I’ll let you away after crashing into Lydia’s car and hacking your way into my head,” Stiles scoffed at him, while the animal in his grasp kept seeking for a way out.

_I am Nereus, the original Deity of the sea. Having most of my powers being taken so I could not fight a mortal is enough of a humiliation, I will not go through your commands as well and suffer another --_

“ -- Hey, hey, pause and rewind that tape by a second.” Stiles was glad he had not stopped it earlier to ask about how exactly could a Deity to lose his status just like that. “You’ve just said you were made to do this- by _who_?”

The body he was gripping finally stopped moving.

_I heard you’re searching for the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. If I tell you where is it, would you let me go?_

Stiles did not want to agree to the deal- both because he did not feel like the self-claimed ex-Deity deserved it after all the trouble he made Stiles go through, as well as the hunch that it would not be smart to not know the name behind all of that.

But at that moment, he already had two Labours on his mind, which their entire point was to be completed, at least so long he wanted to ever have peace and quiet in his town. Whoever that person was -- especially if was not just Hera with one of her weird tactics, which it probably was not, as there was no reason to hide it -- they would not be able to do much once it was over.

And even if they would want to interfere Stiles like Deucalion had done- this was a risk he had to take at that point, at least as long as they did not plan to hurt anyone of his friends.

“Whoever’s behind this- They are only interested in me, right? And there’s no plan to play it dirty and get other people around me involved?”

_I-I only know that much._

Stiles shook his head. “Bullshit.”

_I don’t know enough to tell you about their future plans, but I can help you with other issues which are more worthy than them!_

Stiles’ eyes darted with hesitation.

“Swear.”

_I swear!_

“Vow. To Horkos!” He added once he recalled reading how that was the most severe oath that one could make during the times of Ancient Greece.

_Have the Maniaes gotten their hands on you? I would never -_

Stiles decided to tighten his arms around the neck of the Shapeshifter -- or whatever it claimed to be, as he did not even speak the same way as other Deities; although it might be because he was on Earth for a long time -- and ducked his head a little closer, as though to whisper to its ears.

“If I understood correctly how things work in this community, you probably heard of how I hunted down a number of impossible monsters, right? Do you know what that means to you, whatever shape of an ordinary animal you decide to change into next?”

There was no exchange between them for a couple of moments; the crocodilian’s chokes were the only sound disturbing the silence, until Nereus gave up at last.

_If that is so- I vow to Horkos himself that if I know anything considering the safety of your beloved, I would have told you by now._

Stiles sighed as he released some of the pressure from the creature’s neck.

There was no relief in not knowing what the person that went straight away to attacking his friends was about to do next, but as hard as it was- he had no choice but put it aside in favour of focusing on something else that may save them from the new danger in town.

“So, what do you got for me?”

_The Hesperides inhabit in the town of Hesperia._

Stiles was so shocked by the information that he almost let it free just like that.

“You gotta be kidding me.”

_Some Deities are more arrogant than the others. Anyway, a being too close to a mortal like you could not survive the march to their sun-based fortress. Neither myself, tragically._

“Oh no, you’re not implying by a chance only gods can, are you?” If that was the case, he was screwed.

No wonder Hera and Gerard got along so well, with how she was able to plan any part of the Labours to be more complex than the other. It was one thing to discover where the apples are hidden, which only minutes ago could be at any existing spot on earth - but now finding a freaking _Deity_ who would be willing to do that for him? It was crazy to be able to be even a little optimistic about that.

_Divine immortals, yes. But not necessarily one of the Olympians. They’re the daughters of Atlas, after all._

Stiles frowned. “But won’t Titans be even more unlikely to help? I'm the son of the one who defeated them in the war between them and the gods, and then exiled them for entirety- or punished them with holding the freaking Skies, in Atlas' case. Isn’t there anyone else who’s more feasible?”

_I have fulfilled my part, it is now time for you to do so with yours._

“For fuck’s sake,“ Stiles groaned.

_I may no longer be a Deity, but ignoring a promise is a kind of disrespect you do not want if you wish to have the Olympians on your side for the rest of your quest for heroism._

Groaning further, Stiles released the alligator, which immediately turned into a dove and soared away into the night.

Or at least it was about to, before Stiles smashed it from both sides, between his palms, and made it fall back to the ground.

“And _that’s_ for referring my friends as unworthy,” he declared as he picked his bat and retreated his steps to find the road.

-

Both vehicles were parked at the side of the road when he found the way out of the woods.

“What thing could you possibly find to mess with during such a short time, that a _deer_ was just sent to attack my car?” Lydia demanded answers even before he passed through the last tree to get to where they were standing, as the stopping lane.

“Are you okay?” Stiles hurried to get closer to her, but stopped himself from touching her at the last second when he remembered they were not quite there yet for that, then awkwardly to look at the other two. “All of you?”

“No, I’m _not_ okay, in fact,” Lydia replied irritably. “Whatever that thing was, it has just damaged my car! And you didn’t even bring it back here so he could pay for it! What was it that Scott couldn’t run after instead of you?!”

She did not sound hysterical or panicked, thankfully, so he let himself examine her look for a moment.

She wore a simple, yet nice flowery dress, which was sitting wonderfully on her body shape and ended just at the right point to show off her amazing legs. Her hair was gathered in a loose ponytail along with simplistic makeup, to Stiles’ approval, as anything more would have ruined the naturally perfect design that was her face. No look could have flattered her better, yet he knew he would think otherwise when he meet her the following day at school.

But none of that did not make him that excited as it used to- the way she was always so nurtured and attractive whether she prepared herself for a night out, although she looked so even while sitting in her car crying her eyes out over her joke of a boyfriend.

Had the Labours messed his head _that_ much that he barely cared?

“Stiles?!” Lydia startled him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Stiles blinked. “Ah, oh yeah, you asked about that thing, right? It was a… some kind of a shapeshifter. Not something like a Werewolf or a Kanima, though. It can change into whatever animal it wants. Or a big variety of them, at least. It was mind controlled or something to ran into your car, but it was after me all along, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Of course I’m going to worry!” Lydia stood right before his face. “It was the car with _Allison and me_ inside of it that it crashed into! And what do you mean by _or_ _something_? How can you tell me all that stuff when you’re not even sure?!”

Stiles took a step back- no strength in the world matched Lydia’s confronting mode. “It’s not an ideal situation for me too, alright? Monsters just keep running into me randomly- monsters that until very recently I’ve believed in their existence outside the video games I play even less than I did with Werewolves! I’m working on making them get away, but until then I won’t get close to you to put you at risk like that again, I swear. Neither you _or_ Allison.” He turned to look at the other girl, who eyed him with concern, and then turned to shrug apologetically at his friend. “I couldn’t even see Scott the entire summer for that same reason, Werewolf or not.”

“Dude, are you serious?” Scott put a hand on his shoulder. “Of course you should have! I don’t care about my summer school, we always must work out things like that together!”

Stiles shook his head. “This one is much different than the other stuff. _Seriously_ different.” There was a lot to explain there, but it was neither time or place for that. “It doesn’t matter now, so more importantly- did you guys call a tow truck service yet?”

“Yes, which also reminds me I need to call our dates to pick us up,” Lydia took out her phone and started typing in it.

Stiles knew Jackson was about to get back from his vacation in London, so hearing about Lydia going out with other boys was something he did not expect. It was good to know that he had a better chance with her, although he had to remember he cannot let himself be delight about that situation that much before he knew just what had happened between Jackson and her.

“Sorry Lydia, but I think I’ve had enough for one night,” Allison stopped her.

Stiles noticed her hair was shorter now, and hoped it meant her attitude and state of mine had also been refreshed in parallel to her look, comparing to the previous year.

“This isn’t just for meeting boys, it’s for _us_. We need to celebrate after not seeing each other for that long, and staying at home is not going to help you forget about the accident.” She then proceeded to once-over the other girl. “Not to mention you’re looking too good to keep it away from the world.”

Allison rolled her eyes, but let her amused smile to show. “Thanks, but what I think both of us really deserve is to have a nice night with no crisis occurring during it even once. Let’s just save it for another time, okay?”

Lydia observed her for a bit, and then shrugged and went back to her rapid typing. “If that’s what you want. But I am not cancelling my date, just so you know. We’ll drop you home on our way.”

Stiles had never seen someone’s face changing from one emotion to another – between sadness and hopefulness -- so quickly like Scott’s face had had during the girls’ conversation. He did not know if it was more funny or adorable.

“And _you_.” Lydia suddenly pointed at him. “Starting tomorrow, there’s no way we’ll be able to avoid each other, so whatever it is that’s going on in your life will be relevant for us too. I’m not going to be the helpless damsel who is clueless about what everyone is scheming behind her for the second year in a row. So tomorrow, at lunch, we’ll all get together and you’ll tell us everything. Also, you better have the money for paying back for everything the insurance doesn’t cover.”

Stiles gaped. “But it wasn’t even me who did this!”

“You’re the closest one to whoever’s fault it is. You’re lucky I’m too nice to ask for the gas I wasted in driving all the way here for nothing as well.”

Stiles groaned.

“Just so I’ll know for now,” Scott suddenly interfered, “it’s not about that Alpha Pack you’ve told me about, right?”

Both of the girls’ eyes widen.

“Oh, no, no, not at all.” He erratically waved his hands at the three before him over and over again to calm them down. “There’s no Alpha Pack anymore, we took care of them a month ago. Most of them are dead, and the leader is in a weird kind of coma. It’s just… the other thing I’ve talked to you about.”

“What other things?” Scott repeated, confused.

Stiles was so impressed sometimes by his friend’s impressively lack of comprehension.

“But you said you didn’t let Scott help you, so who are those _we_?” Allison was unsurprisingly the one to ask.

How funny it was that it was hard for him to talk about them regardless of the inconvenient history between Allison and Derek?

Stiles swallowed. “Erica and Boyd were kidnapped by them, so I helped Derek to rescue them, and also later when they attacked the Pack.”

“ _The_ Pack?” Scott watched him worryingly. “You mean _Derek’s_ pack.”

The blood ran from Stiles’ face for the gods-knows-how-much time that weekend.

He did not even notice he started to refer to them like that- not that he really had had a chance to mention them out loud to anyone. The way the three pairs of eyes observing him made him feel like he broke a serious status quo, which he had just made its existence to be more solid than ever.

He released a nervous laugh. “Em, yeah. Yeah, you’re right. My bad, silly me. Oh, by the way, they hate my face now even more than before, so we’re going to have yet another fun year at school. Unless they’re smart enough to understand that getting closer to me means even worse times for them, considering everything that’s coming after me.”

Scott chuckled, clearly revealed. “I don’t get why would they react like that for someone who helped them twice, but we’ll make through this like always, don’t worry.”

Stiles snorted. “Hell yeah, that’s what we do.”

-

The tow truck arrived not long after that, and the two girls’ ride came just as it drove away with the wrecked car. Allison gave Scott a hesitant half of a smile before getting inside, and he raised his hand to give her an almost-wave, which was just as ridiculous.

The driving all the way back to Scott’s home was quiet, and Stiles barely hummed a goodbye when they arrived by the house.

Anxiety got the better of him, and the thought of how people around him could get hurt at any given moment, even when he was not near them, did not leave his head- and that got him into one of the worst panic attacks he had had in years.

The conclusion was clear: no matter what way you looked at it, there simply was not a reasonable option for him to stay at his house any longer, whether the danger came from an external source or from Stiles himself.

Whatever research he had to make, it had to be done outside, even if it meant that it basically left even the library out of bounds. He would need to sneak in and quickly steal some keys, or at least buy a master key, so he could break into there at night when no one was there.

Was even _this_ safe enough, though?

Because, from what things looked like, any familiar he would meet, even if he did not talk to them -- neighbours, classmates, grocery store employees -- could be in danger by his mere presence.

That was something to worry about for later; for now, he had to get out of his home, at least.

His head ached and he felt a little dizzy while standing up, but he forced himself to get over it and go out to his Jeep. He would have to stay there and sleep what was left of the night, in order to gain as much rest as he could for the time being. Perhaps in the morning he would call some food delivery so he would not have to wait inside a restaurant; it would be a good chance to check if diner food delivery is already a thing in his area.

But all of that for tomorrow; for now, he had to find a better place to park his Jeep, preferably next to the reserve.

Stiles did just so, as he found a parking area he knew no one would go to at the middle of the night: next to the sign forbidding people of entering after the dark, which he himself had only parked only once, when he had gone with Scott to look for a dead body.

Bad luck could not possibly strike him there twice, right?

Once shifting himself a little to a more comfortable position, Stiles crashed out, luckily enough exhausted to mind the not very comfortable vehicle seat. Sleep was short, though, as the sun did not fully come out when he was startlingly woken.

The Jeep was rattling and suddenly was leaning to the side. Through the window, Stiles saw another car shoving against the side of his, and from the sound of it- it seemed like it was scratching and scraping it all over.

There was plenty of a place to park at, and even the lack of light could not be an excuse anymore by that point, but it was explained quickly as Stiles recognized his Science teacher, Adrian Harris, at the driver seat.

Stiles gaped in shock for a few moments as the professor took his time to turn off his engine with his free hand, as the other one was busy scrolling through his phone, which had taken his attention off of the act of parking. He was wearing a sweat suit, but Stiles was too mad to even laugh about that.

“Hey!” He yelled at him, although both of their windows were closed, and then pressed the steering wheel’s horn to get the other’s attention.

Once noticing the Jeep was occupied -- and perhaps in with whom as well -- Harris’ eyes widened behind his glasses, and he hurried to abandon his car.

“Son of a bitch,” Stiles cursed as he tried to get out himself through the passenger seat- it was really just his luck that the Teacher’s car parked next to the driver’s side.

By the time he flailed out of it from the other side, Harris had already built up an imposing distance between them. For a second his size strangely seemed to not match -- he seemed too large, like he was closer than the actual point he was at -- but Stiles figured it was just a weird hallucination due to his lack of sleep.

“Stop!” Stiles shouted after him as he started to run. “Where are you going?!”

Stiles’ body had only barely recovered from the violent attack, and combining his Teacher’s surprisingly well fitness -- even Coach Finstock would have been impressed -- he failed at narrowing the gap, and eventually lost him.

What was his point of running away? Stiles would meet him at school anyway, and as the Sheriff’s son, it did not add to the tensed case between them. It seemed like those speeches he had made during about every class of this generation’s inability to use their brain was even more worthless than Stiles had thought.

He just stood there for one more minute to catch his breath, when he heard a screech above him that was definitely of a bird- only it was nothing like he had ever heard before.

Whatever that bird was, it was _huge_ , and definitely a monster.

Then, like the illusion did not plan to end any time soon- a heavy rain started coming down out of nowhere, just about twenty meters ahead of him, even though the temperatures were high, as typical to the Californian’s September.

Well, this indeed proved that any accidental encounter he would have until the two last Labours were completed; but whatever was happening this time, Harris was still out there- and he had to find him.

Stiles entered to the storm’s range, and called repeatedly at his Teacher’s name as he ran blindly in the foggy forest. He stopped every once in a while to try hearing a response, but none came. He tried different directions randomly, until he found one in which the rain fell down in the messiest manner- and figured that was the right way.

Eventually, he arrived by what was certainly one of the reserve’s largest tree. Long lines of wooden vines hugged the enormous trunk, which made a grunting sound as they seemingly moved on their own, as though it was the Whomping Willow from _Harry Potter_.

Circling it, he found Harris being tied to the tree by the vines – which surrounded any point in his body apart of his head and his lower abdomen -- his body completely still, and he remained frozen until Stiles started approaching him and his head jerked up at once, and then he was shaken panickily.

“No, the Eagle! You have to stop it first!” He cried over the rain in a gruff voice.

Stiles frowned, until the shriek of a beast drew his attention.

Shielding his eyes, he could see the shadow of the flying beast moving and cutting through the drops as it positioned itself at a point straight ahead from Harris. The position of the tree right in the middle of a big clearing gave the flying creature just the right space it needed in order to lower his long body under the trees’ level and dive right into the Teacher.

Stiles hurried to stand at that route, between Harris and the Eagle, and prepared himself. He could not afford to shield his eyes with his hands anymore and so had to keep them narrowed, which meant he could only trust his hearing in order to track the Eagle’s distance from him as it was approaching.

The shadow got darker as it got closer, and decanted to his height once it was a second away from him. Stiles arched his back a little so he would not be hurt by the beak but rather catch it- which he succeeded to do.

He slid backwards on the muddy ground before they both came to a stop, once his back met Harris.

“Ugh, get this away!” The Teacher pleaded.

“I’m trying,” Stiles replied irritatedly, pushing at the monster.

The Eagle flapped his wings non-stop as he tried to shake Stiles’ hold off, but it was not nearly strong enough. Stiles pulled it up and then slammed it to the ground- shocking the beast enough so he could get to its wings, and break the joints which connected them to the body.

Hearing the cracking sound, a shudder went through him which had nothing to do with his wet clothes. He shook the disgust feeling away to the best of his abilities, and turned to Harris in order to rip the vines off of him and free him to escape the scene.

Only, now that he could examine it closely, the vines seemed like they came right from within Harris: through the inside of his fetes and palms, the back of his knees and his armpits.

Stiles’ stomach turned over once again.

“You have to kill the Eagle first, or it won’t stop growing back,” Harris explained, then coughed the water that entered his mouth.

Stiles slowly turned around to the monster that struggled to find its balance to stand with nonfunctional wings, which served a great pain. It looked like a normal bird, only bigger than any type that still existed- almost like it had survived all the way since the Dinosaurs’ age. Not that it was the main reason he was bothered by the idea, though.

“What are you waiting for?! Kill it!” His Teacher called from behind him.

That brought him an excuse to delay the inevitable.

“Swear to me you’re not working for Gerard,” Stiles demanded with his back to him.

Harris did not say anything at first, perhaps out of surprise.

Stiles kept waiting.

“I received this punishment because I rebled against Zeus, why makes you think I’d serve under a _human_?!” Harris’ voice was half annoyed half desperate.

With that, it was Stiles’ turn to be caught by surprise.

 _Another_ one?! Why people around him kept coming out as related to the supernatural world instead of being added to it, and how could he be blind to it for so long? Just how many _more_ were left for him to discover?!

And to think it was no less than his Science teacher; it looked like he was lucky he was only punished through detentions up until that point.

“The Eagle only wants to maim me, but I won’t be able to go until it does what he came here to do, and it won’t stop until it gets to me either,” Harris explained, shaking him out of his thoughts that he wished he could focus on for longer. “Please, I will help you with what Gerard sent you to look for! Just kill it!”

The monster’s eyes were looking at Stiles, but he felt like they were truly directed for what was right behind him.

Stiles swallowed. If only it was getting easier at one point.

He forced the Eagle’s head down, and crouched next to it.

Then he brought his other hand down on its nape, crushing it.

The rain stopped at once, and the fog started to gradually fade away as well. There was no sound but the crumbling vines as they rotted to dust.

Harris gasped, and breathed a laugh that slowly became choked.

“That’s it, it’s truly over after all,” he whispered, voice full of relief.

Stiles could not stop staring at the dead body. “For you.”

“You don’t understand- that thing has pecked my liver every morning for thirteen thousand years now!” He sobbed. “I had to fake morning jogging to the woods, or the liana would grow out of my body and tie me to the largest tree nearby. It happened today because I had to deal with running away from you. But after all that time where any potential rescue ran away from the rain, I’m free, indisputably free at last!”

Stiles took a big breath as he finally managed to control his body again and turn to him.

“You said you will help me, and I know you’re not a mortal, but does it mean you can go to the Hesperides? Are you an ex-god too?”

Harris grimaced as though Stiles suggested something below him, and started cleaning his glasses with an eyeglass cloth he took from his pocket. “No, of course not. Show a bit respect and don’t low your expectations, I’m still your teacher. Not that there is any Deity powerful enough to deal with children of today’s generation, who are completely untamed, pampered, lacking in basic honour -- ”

Stiles groaned. “I _know_. I’ve heard it every day for the past two years. Just tell me who you are.”

His Teacher huffed surly, putting his glasses back on. “You have just rescued me from my miserable destiny, but it doesn’t mean my point was not proven. Very well then.”

He arranged his clothes, clearing his throat and smiling high and proudly.

“I am Prometheus, Titan of trickery and forethought, he himself.”

It all connected now; Stiles knew the story of the Titan, who was sentenced to have his liver being eaten daily after sneaking the fire to humans.  Everything happened so fast that he did not have time to think about it, in addition to never reading a version where the Titan was untied and was free to be for the rest of the day.

And, furthermore...

“Trickery? _You_?” Stiles smiled a little by that amusing thought. “Maybe that’s why you hate me so much! I bet Zeus did not put an end to you just to let you live with the thought that you’ve failed to outsmart him.”

The snobbery remained in the other’s expression. “Your Father indeed is an all-mighty one, I’ll credit him for that. And your confidence in your sense of wisecrack _is_ quite extraordinary.”

Stiles exhaled sharply and looked away. His short moment of delight was gone as well by the way Zeus was referred in regard to him.

He passed next to Harris. “Let’s get away from here. Just don’t start running away again.”

“I only did that to make sure you won’t reach me before I’ll lead you to where I wanted you to find me.” The Titan explained as he started following his steps.

“How does it make sense to do that instead of just asking for my help?”

“You weren’t ready to defeat the Eagle before your weekly fights started, even though you were always stubborn enough to run through the hardest points of the storm, where everyone else had given up, and one of the rare people willing to risk going against someone like Zeus. I didn’t know you’d decide to spend the night here, but once I felt your aura- I made sure to wake you up in a way that will drive you to follow me. Thankfully, you indeed were only clumsy enough for that, but not in front of the Eagle.”

It was only the second time someone talked about supposed aura, but it still disturbed like he heard that kitschy idea a lot more than that.

“You better pay me for the repair,” Stiles noted disgruntledly instead.

“Is it not enough that I’m going to take you to my apartment to give you clean clothes and a chance to have a shower, since you’re so eager for some reason to not return home?”

Stiles was surprised by the offer. Putting an end to such a torture like Harris had gone through was a serious thing, but offering voluntarily a reward like that seemed very thoughtful nonetheless, coming from someone like Harris.

“Won’t the gods put you through a different kind of punishment?” Stiles asked.

“Thankfully, I’m too old news for Zeus to care about today. It is the Darach I should be worried about more. They just may find someone like me as the ultimate sacrifice which they came here for.”

Stiles stopped and turned around. “Darach? Is it the person that is responsible for that guy, Nereus, or someone else completely? Oh, gods, _please_ don’t tell me there’s a third one now.”

Mr. Harris rolled his eyes in a characteristically exaggerated matter, and continued walking. “No, there is no one else I’m aware of, and yes, they act individually, and it seems like they indeed used that weakling as a tool of hers. They compel the nature to bring their offerings to empower them in preparation for the right moment.”

“So Nereus attacked Lydia and Allison because it wanted the, kidnapped for a _sacrifice_?” Stiles almost lost it by that thought.

“They are not a thing more than your brain is,” his Teacher proceeded with his infamous sigh. “A Darach is a dark Druid, and I know they are from their aura. They will be forced to move away once you complete your missions, like any other force within the Olympians’ control who will wish to take control, but until then, it is a good chance for them to gain power from the many sacrifice-worthy being living here.”

So it was official: Stiles had once again two enemies to struggle against.

Well, he had to admit that it had always been like that; it was too weird to only have one person to want you dead at a given time, was it not?

And, if he was lucky, it would overfeed his anxiety to that level where you stop to feel anything.

“As for your question earlier,” Harris suddenly started, “no, I can’t get the Apples for you, too much of my divinity force was taken away. If I was able to survive the path to their place, I wouldn’t have any problem to kill the Eagle myself. But I know another one who had enough of their powers remained in order to deal with the kind of punish they received.”

“It’s another Titan, right?” Stiles guessed. “From those who weren’t sent to the Tartarus, there was you and… Oh, right, if you’re Prometheus, then Epimetheus gotta be somewhere here too!”

“Finally, a sign of hope from your almost certainly irremediable broken brain.” Harris got excited in the driest way possible, and Stiles wanted to tie him to a tree nearby just so he could punch into his stomach, for all the times he had just saved him from experiencing that pain, until he would wish for his liver to be torn off again. “His powers aside, as long as it is not about animals, I believe you know better than me that he is not one who usually keen to get out of his way for others.”

Stiles frowned. By that point, it was not surprising he already knew him, but Harris’ description about Stiles knowledge of him was weirdly a little too specific.

Then, when he connected the dots -- animal lover and hate to make great acts of help -- his heart dropped.

“Don’t tell me… _Deaton_?”

“Leave that shock for later- he is not the best fit for this task, anyway. It is Atlas that The Hesperides are daughters, after all.”

Stiles had to take a few more moments just to shake all the thoughts that ran through his head before he was able to focus on the conversation again. “But even if I find Atlas, wherever he’s stuck at, isn’t he supposed to be, like, _super_ merciless and evil, even more than the gods? Well, not that you turned out to be the same as the picture of the human-loving Prometheus I had in my head -- ”

“ -- You can decide it yourself when you meet her. You know her as Ms. Morrell.”

Stiles literally tripped over himself by the surprise, but had to hurry to get up as His Teacher did not even bother to stop and check on him.

“Our _guidance counsellor_? Wow, it does make me wonder who’s gonna be the winner of the who-Stiles-will-find-last-to-be-connected-to-the-supernatural-world game. I mean, yeah, it makes sense for you to be one of them, when you’re just as childish as Hera to mistreat me for what both my Father and Biological Parent have done to you, but  _Morrell_? You know, I shared some really intimate details with her. And let’s not forget how she worked with the Alpha Pack for some reason.”

Harris did not seem interested in his life crisis at all, probably especially after living the euphoria of getting out of his own, even if it was done by no other than Stiles.

Divinity self-centeredness at its best.

“Anyway, I doubt she’ll agree to do me such a favour. It’s actually pretty funny that you weren’t the one to work with them, considering you’re the father of the original Deucalion, and an active opposer of Zeus.”

“Like I said,” Harris responded impatiently. “My divinity was stripped, which weakened my aura to a level of a mortal like you- hence why I cannot do it myself, even if it is true that both of us are the only current opposers of Zeus: throughout the years, I worked as both a teacher and a military scientist with my different covers- educating humans in spite of Zeus’ will for you to keep all the knowledge to the Olympus. Atlas, on the other hand, decided to get on the nerves of Zeus by getting close to Werewolves, under the punishment of carrying the burden of maintaining the magic of the Olympus by keeping the humans away of the supernatural world. No one else will dare or be able to steal Hera’s gift for Zeus for you. It’s your only chance.”

Stiles nodded in a sarcastically satisfaction. “Neat. Well, at least I won’t be afraid to go to school, if you’re right about the Darach attacking in order to get sacrifices and not just to hurt me. So, what made you treat humans like that after you sacrificed so much out of belief in them?”

Harris huffed. “Even though I still find Zeus to be too strict, they did disappoint me eventually when they have never stood up to the potential of their concept. But I do have to admit that they still helped me relieving the frustration of filling my mind with hypotheses, as I could now entertain my intelligence in the Olympus. Creating is one thing, you see, but understanding what exactly _happens_ when you create, and what it forms from…”

Stiles bit his lip to not laugh at his Teacher’s dreamy expression.

“That’s why I brought the fire to humans- only among them, I could examine in peace. I’ve served in many armies throughout the years because it is the best platform to be subsidized for researchers. I try not to get ahead of myself, because it takes much more time for the humans’ little minds to comprehend. But then comes a technology like the Internet, and for a couple of centuries there is no interest in anything else, and that’s when I became a teacher. I wish it was not as nice as it used to be, but with the more things you learn- each generation becomes even more hollow.”

“And yet you date them,” Stiles snorted, recalling Allison telling about running into their Teacher at a party, but his smile was gone fast. “And even let them seduce you into telling them how to burn a house full of Werewolves inside. You, a Titan of _trickery,_ were tricked by a human, and you come down on that kind?”

It was enough to tense Harris’s body to a stop, even though they were still a few steps away from the parking lot.

“She had Hera’s madness on her side- she was smart enough to know how to get information, and who to choose to get it from. All of my spouses and children in Beacon Hills work with chemicals in some way, but no one is a scholar in my level, which is why she chose me. Of course, I knew there was something suspicious about her questions, but I was drunk that night and so, _so_ frustrated with humans’ decreasing interest in science, so I just let her get anything she wanted from me. I would not have acted the same had I knew her motives were to kill Werewolves, which are allies in the danger they are to the Olympus, as my Sister will be able to tell you better than anyone else. Especially if I had already known Gerard. Oh, what a nightmare it was when he became my principal.”

Stiles did not like the thought that Harris had ignored a suspicion like that so easily, but then again, his best friend had also ignored his once in favour of impressing a girl, and so he just responded with: “Tell me about it.”

After declining the offer to come to his place -- with no real danger either at home or school, he preferred getting ready for school at his home than going to Harris’ frat, and saving it for another chance he would need it instead -- Harris nodded him goodbye after promising he would talk with Ms. Morrell to stay after school to meet with him.

Stiles had no objections about that- if anything else would happen that day, Stiles would prefer it happening with Morrell; out of everyone who was affected so far, she would be the one he would not feel sorry about, considering her aid to the Alpha Pack.

All in all, he decided to spend the day close to Scott and the others to at least be there in case a trouble would occur, instead of wishing from a so-called safe distance that everything would be alright.

In a dangerous time as that, the best solution seemed to be ending things as quickly as possible, and keep his eyes always open, rather than mull over the question of proximity once again.

-

“You want to ask _Derek_ for help?” Stiles repeated Scott’s words with disbelief at his desperation, when the two met at school at a more proper hour that morning. You could always trust Scott to bring up the names of wrong people at the wrong times.

Why could they not try to fake an excitement for the start of their Junior year inside all of that mess, or whine over actual meaningless things like his bad luck of trip hard enough to get bruised literally two days after a magical thorough healing by Zeus himself?

Of course, it had affected every area in his body but the claw scars in his back from Ennis, but Stiles liked the look of the war pattern, but knew he could not show it to Scott before he overcame his Werewolf-hating tattoo.

He wanted to help his friend out whenever he could, he really did- but he did not know how to explain to him that seeking Derek out now might worsen the tension between the two packs that was right back in the air.

Sometimes Stiles really did not understand what the point of saving people’s lives was, when the only way he could do it was by taking from them any opportunity to live them to the fullest and enjoy them.

And just like that, he saw Erica and Boyd observing him from behind the corner.

Boyd had a poker face, although, if Stiles could really count on the time he had spent with him in the last month- then his stoical expression was much less friendly in his special, indifferent way, and that alone told Stiles how his attitude towards him had changed in a relatively grand scale.

Erica, on the other hand, showed her emotions more openly- but it still hurt to see the agony, almost _sorrow_ in her eyes and being able to visualize just how deep it was, considering the friendship they had built.

After one of the longest moments in Stiles’ life, they turned to the hall they were headed to. Stiles turned to Scott again, where questioning eyes waited for him.

“Well, let’s just say his hands are a little full right now,” Stiles sighed.

Scott eyed him, confused once again, but Stiles gave him back a look pleading to not ask about it.

They both forgot about it altogether when they passed by the principal’s office and a sneak peak showed that he had found some stuff that led to troubles they _defiantly_ did not have the time to deal with, and with that, they hurried to renew their way to their classroom.

The first period of their Junior year started pretty well, with Allison getting just late enough to have to take a seat right in front of Scott. They even appeared to pass notes at some point during the lesson.

It looked like the accident from the day before had one positive consequence. Neat.

It was also a huge relief for Stiles, who finally had someone else be in the centre of things, and taking that role very naturally so. He wanted to kick himself so much for claiming once that he hated being Robin all the time.

Turning his attention to Lydia, later through the class, Stiles noticed a bandage on her leg. He was surprised to hear it was caused by her dog, Prada, who had never bitten her before, and she was just as surprised when he mentioned that it may be the same thing as the Deer.

“Maybe we just need to be careful with animals in general?” He suggested further.

“Meaning what?” She whispered to him, looking unconvinced. “That the entire Animalia kingdom was hurt by you in some kind of way that a random shapeshifter and even my own pet decided to attack me?”

Stiles groaned, although it was hard to do it quietly, considering the entire class around them was silent. “I told you I didn’t do anything. Well, not to the animals. And even those who think I did something for them just by being- _anyway_. There’s someone behind all that who’s in control of the whole thing. I’ve just learnt that it is not who I’ve dealt with until now. It’s someone else. Someone bad, and now I only need to figure out who it is in person.”

If all the attacks that were made by the Darach that far -- although only one of them had been confirmed to be related -- were done through animals, it could either mean they could control all the animals in the area at once, or that they had become desperate enough to try to operate through a Papillon breed of dog.

Lydia nodded, humming. “So you lied to us yesterday when you said you’ll tell us everything that’s going on since you’re aware of it all.”

“I was. I swear! I had only one enemy right until that point last night, when he showed up all of a sudden and- ” He cut himself off to check on the teacher and make sure he was not accidentally speaking too out loud. He then shifted back to face Lydia, sighing; he should have known it would be a bad idea to reach to her to try to work this out when their relationship suffered from a great mistrust. “Look -- ”

They were both startled by a black bird, which flew right into the window next to her, leaving a bloodstain on the windowpane as it fell down.

Looking beyond the windows, there seem to be a whole flock of birds heading in the school’s direction, with no plan to stop. There were so many of them that their black colour covered the blue of the sky more and more as they were getting closer.

“Under the tables, everyone, now!” Quick to regroup, Stiles shouted to the whole class while jumping on Lydia and covering her not a moment later.

Soon enough, the birds began crashing into the glass one after the other and crack it until their followers eventually broke through, flying everywhere in the little room and harassing any person they collided too.

It was a long minute full of mess, and Stiles wished he had the _krotala_ clappers with him, from back when he had had the Labour of driving away the Stymphalian birds. They seemingly only ceased when the last drop of energy in their body was used, literally coming to a rest after their last breath.

Lydia mouthed to him a death wish once she got up right after him, and he really could not blame her for that- although he was almost completely sure that this one was directed to him at all.

He really needed to decode those to Labours as fast as he could, or those weird occurrences would not stop, and possibly only get worst.

Allison grabbed his arm all of a sudden, and dragged him to the corner of the class. Lydia and Scott followed automatically, with no need to say anything.

“Hey, I know, okay?” He exchanged look with all three of them, keeping his tone low again. “But not _here_. By the look of it, they’re calling the cops, which means my Dad’s probably gonna get here, which means we’ll be free for the rest of the day. After that, you can take me wherever you want and ask me everything you need to know.”

“And how do you know that by that time there won’t be even more hazard popping out of nowhere?” Stiles almost crumbled under Allison’s demanding eyes.

“I- ” He opened and closed his mouth, looking for the best answer, until he got into conclusion that being sincere was the best option he could go with. “I certainly, honestly don’t know.”

His answer drew out a collective groan from the other three.

“But right now, that everyone is gonna get screwed whether next to me or not, it’ll be worse when I’m not there to at least know what to do against it. So just choose wherever, but remember to bear that in mind.”

“Well, I need to be in whatever place that will end up the closest to my shower,” Lydia declared.

Stiles thought about it. “It might be mine, but if we’ll be done at the hour when there’s bad traffic then we should just in case choose -- ”

Lydia arched an eyebrow at him.

“ -- Choose your house since it is the closest, right.” Stiles nodded, mentally slapping his forehead.

-

Lydia and Allison took a ride with Allison’s father -- who arrived at the scene just after the Sheriff and his Deputies entered the class -- so it would look less suspicious, and Stiles and Scott reached to the agreed location a few minutes afterwards.

Stiles was not even given a minute to go to the toilet before he was seated down on the sofa, with Allison and Lydia looking at him from the opposite direction expectedly.

Prada was nowhere to be seen, but whatever it meant about him- it seemed like for Lydia there were fewer chances that something would happen in her house again, and Stiles hoped she was right.

It helped a little that he had told most of his story just a few days earlier -- with only a few more parts needed to be added as they were all more or less evenly clueless about the whole thing -- so he knew the right point to start from. It helped him to also remember the need to tell it with some level of cautiousness, since he had listeners who had a tender emotional contact with the people involving in more than one of the events.

“So, to start from the last time you took a part in Beacon Hills’ daily supernatural dramas, at the night we took care of the Kani- I mean, Jackson’s Kanima state,” He hurried to rephrase himself before Lydia would tear him apart right there and then. “So, we accomplished that by taking care of Gerard, too.” His eyes flicked to and away from Allison for a few times, and he nervously swallowed. “Or so we thought.”

“If you’re trying to tell me that he’s still alive, then yes, I know,” Allison informed him.

When it came to putting a brave face on, Allison absolutely outplayed everyone. There was no way she felt as calm and confident about her Grandfather still being conscious and functioning enough to be able to find a way to operate his plans, and yet her shoulders were held back so naturally and without tense; her chin was raised high genuinely so- that no kind of force could break her enough to enjoy any impact it would leave on her.

When Stiles nodded back at her, though, it was as jerky as it could be. “He’s right here at the retirement home, if you ever feel like come to say hi. I had the unfortunate privilege to do just that for a few times during the summer, and if you think that having a Kanima in his favour is bad, that just wait until you hear what he’s like after charming a goddess.”

 “A _goddess_?” Allison repeated.

“Yep.” He spread his arms out. “Welcome to the Olympians’ world- or the Ancient Greek reality, if it’s easier to call it that way for now.”

“Meaning?” Lydia’s eyebrow was raised, not too impressed.

“Ever heard of Lycaon’s myth, how Zeus made him and all of his gang into half-wolves?” Stiles put his hand on Scott’s shoulder next to him to emphasize. “That’s the Werewolves’ creation for you. Just that it’s not only a legend.”

“And that goddess you said Gerard has in his favour,” Allison asked further, “who exactly is she?”

“Why, of course, Hera, the wife of Zeus,” Stiles answered with only partly sarcastic amusement.

“So you basically were so determined to search about Werewolves’ origin, that you got in trouble with their creators, who some saw them as Deities?” Lydia assumed.

“That what they want you- okay, I don’t think they really care either way, they’re just that done with humans. But they _are_ as real as in the legend. Look, you wouldn’t have believed Werewolves were real right now either if it wasn’t for Scott here, right?”

Stiles had not thought of how hard it would be just to convince them, even before he started telling them everything, but he had a solution in his mind.

“I guess that leaves me no choice. Let me demonstrate to you in the same way my Dad was forced to believe in this.”

Stiles stood up and walked behind the couch he and Scott sat at.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he told Scott, ducking to hold the bottom of it.

“Wha - ?”

When Stiles got up again, it was with the piece of furniture being held in the height of his head with ease- almost all the way to the ceiling. He tried to keep it as stable as possible, though, with his friend’s emotional safety in his mind.

“As shiny as it could be- even under the sofa,” Stiles noted to himself, staring at the floor. “As expected from the Martins.”

He carefully put the couch back down, looking humorous at the pair of friends staring at him with wide eyes, and made jazz hands.

“A Demigod’s magic, what’d you say about that?”

Lydia’s eyes flickered as she processed the information. “Demigod. As in a child of a _Deity_.”

“I didn’t know until two and a half months ago either,” Stiles said as he sat down.

She blinked at him, like she was about to explain a very known fact. “The modern definition of a Demigod is a child of a Deity and a mortal, but in its first appearance, by the Ancient Greek poets, it was used to describe any hero with divine abilities and accomplishments.”

Just to be expected from Lydia, to overcome him even in the search of his own field.

The fact she chose to rely on that piece of knowledge, though, meant that she still did not understand his exhibition the way she should have had.

“So you do believe that part of the myth is real,” Stiles tried to understand her mindset, “but not the gods’ part.”

Lydia shrugged. “I don’t believe someone like you wouldn’t just on the first opportunity to brag about it in front of me once I was exposed to the supernatural world.”

“Not if I was aware of it myself. For years it just was a mysterious, unnatural strength my parents have never told me of its source.”

“But you’re too clumsy to hide your strength,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Um, Demigod talent?” Stiles tried to offer jazz hands again. “Even before I knew something was wrong with me, I’ve never had a problem to know where to be more careful: I’ve never broken people’s hands when I shook them or anything like that. I was lucky that there was never strength competition between kids at pre-school. though.”

“So, since you still live with your Father,” Allison tried to guess, “was your Mother…?”

Any sense of hilarity in him was gone at once. “No, she was the mortal one, and my other Biological Parent is Zeus.”

The environment did not stay uncomfortable for long thanks to Lydia, who was the only one to really notice the details in his statement. “Let me get this straight- you are the son of Zeus, the king of all the Greek Deities, from one of the most dominant, influencing religions that have ever existed?”

Stiles pointed at Scott. “See? That’s how you should have reacted when I first told you!”

Scott only gave him a short, one-shoulder shrug. Stiles knew better already to not anticipate any better expression of regret.

“So, what does all of this has to do with Gerard?” Allison got them right back to track.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Right, so this time let me take you to the chronological beginning of this. You’ll need this to also understand how I got what I will first tell you now about the Darach.”

Repeating the sequence for the second time, he did not stumble over his words at the most part, nor did he suddenly recalled to mention early details only on further parts that much. Nonetheless, the parts that had been the hardest to talk about at the first time were the same here; no matter who his listeners were, it would always be much more of a confession than a narration while talking about the background of his birth. That thick, viscous heaviness which contaminated his heart would only seep deeper every time.

That was why Scott felt as a complete contrast to him: Stiles felt the puppy eyes watching him, wishing they could cheer him up when he was not even listening enough to grasp the idea of how fucked up Stiles’ life is. He seemed to split his attention between him and Allison, checking her reaction carefully, even more so when Stiles described the rescue of Erica and Boyd alongside Derek, and only staring elsewhere when Stiles had told him about the consequences of the Labour with Deaton.

The Argent girl, on the other hand, seemed like she wanted to argue against his words, especially when he mentioned the people that helped Gerard, and the beasts which she clearly had never heard her family talking about- but she did not cut him off at any point, despise parroting his words skeptically.

Meanwhile, Lydia made the impression that she believed Stiles more than the other two. She trusted her friend to be able to hold her own, too, and only squeezed her hand shortly at very specific parts. Most of the times, though, her face showed interest regarding anything about the different creatures and the Deities he had come across.

Whether it was of what happened in the previous years, or the more complicated stuff from the recent months- they all let him the free hand to decide where to explain further, and where to shorten and pass through the main, important details quicker, unless they did not understand his explanation. That was until he finally talked about the last completed Labour, with the island which was owned by Gerard.

“He owns one of the _Canary Islands_?” Allison burst out. “Isn’t it right next to Africa?!”

Stiles rubbed his face. “Yeah, I know, it makes as much sense as of how he kept over there monsters which he genetically-engineered himself to use them one day against creatures in _America_ that were created naturally, even if through a divine force. He has more dirty plans to get control than we will ever know, and I won’t be surprised to find out he didn’t throw at us everything he has yet.”

Allison was irritated, and Stiles did not know whether it was because of how frustrating his statement was, or because of how her confusion grew more and more with every new word that came out of his mouth.

“Anyway, Gerard prepared me a lot of _wonderful_ surprises there, like those twins from the Alpha Pack who turned out to be sons of Poseidon. See what I talked about when I said I have a headache just thinking how everything so freakily well? At least Zeus finally showed up to help and heal me.”

“So you met your real Father?” Scott turned astonished.

Stiles could not even fake a smile at him when he met his eyes. “Well, not really. I said Zeus, yeah, but my _real_ Father was at the sheriff's department at that time, actually.”

“Oh,” Scott uttered, embarrassed. “So, what, er -- ”

“ -- We’ll let him tell us about him later,” Lydia thankfully cut Scott off. “So after this, you met with Gerard again and he told you about the two additional Labours, right?”

Stiles nodded in confirmation. “For my current one, I need to find a tree with golden apples that Hera gave as a wedding present to Zeus, and pick them for Gerard. They are held by Nymphs called the Hesperides. I got Nereus to tell me the general area of it -- who’s the shapeshifter from yesterday, that by the way, I can now tell you that he’s actually the ex-god of the sea -- but that I won’t be able to get there on my own. Only full-divine beings are immune to their aura, or whatever. So now I have to go butter up for Ms. Morrell, because she’s the only -- ”

“ -- Isn’t she Deaton’s Sister? Maybe he could help you with this too!” Scott offered.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose; hearing that name alone made him feel anguished. “I’ve just told you about million reasons to how unhelpful he is even when he can be, and even more to why I don’t trust him. If anything, one of them may be that Darach I’ve told you about instead of the non-dark Druids he claimed to be.”

“I can ask my Dad if we have anything about plants or if he knows some expert, if you can tell me exactly how it is called,” Allison started typing in her phone. “After all of that, I need to talk with him anyway.”

That offer by Allison, on the contrary, was something he indeed appreciated. “Oh, really? Thanks!”

“Don’t thank her,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “We’re all in this whether we want or not until Gerard and Hera will let you go.”

“And also, whether _you_ want or not,” Scott put a hand on his shoulder. “And don’t worry, Derek’s Betas can stare at you as much as they want at school. They owe you their lives, so you don’t have to feel bad they don’t like the people you hang around with.”

Stiles did not tell them of how he spent his time between the Labours during the last month, or that he kept in contact with Derek at all besides the times he drove him to places he needed to be at because of his injury.

He preferred to mention that after he finished to talk about the things that interested them more, which was what impacted everything that happened to them since they met yesterday.

And, most obviously, did not even dare to mention what Zeus had told him about their hearts, because the last thing he wanted them to start thinking suddenly is that it all was a prank and he had just told them the plot of the newest Disney film.

And as much Stiles wanted to continue like this, to pretend that Scott’s interpretation was true and Derek and his pack were disappointed with him simply for not choosing them- he knew he would have to tell them at some point.

But before he could open his mouth, Allison asked him to give her all the details he knew about the tree, with Scott meanwhile searching for his helmet. Before he knew it, there was suddenly a cue for everyone to leave, even before he told them about Mr. Harris.

“You’ll come pick me up for the party tonight, right?” Scott suddenly turned to him. “I don’t know this part of town, so it’ll be easier than trying to figure out directions and stuff.”

Stiles blinked; he almost forgot about the Birthday party of his friend, Heather. He was not even in the mood for it, but he knew Scott needed it.

“Oh, Yeah, sure thing, man. See ya tonight.”

Scott nodded, and he was about to head out as well when Lydia surprisingly stopped him

“Stiles, could you stay for a little more?”

Shocked, he pointed at himself, even though there was no one else at the house part for the two of them. “M-Me?”

“I want to ask you a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”

It was his biggest dream coming true; if only he did not feel so fucking shitty to actually get excited by it.

His phone suddenly buzzed before he could reply, and considering that, he got that message just in time.

“If it’s not short it’ll have to wait for later- Morrell just asked me if I can come right now.” He could not believe there were bigger priorities than staying behind with Lydia at her empty house, but her life was on the line as well anyway.

Lydia nodded. “Then it’ll wait for later. You should go now, before she changes her mind.”

Stiles nodded back at her, and after a few more moments where he struggled to find good words to greet her with a goodbye- he finally left.

He then went out to meet with Ms. Morrell, where he would get the power that would overwhelm him even beyond Derek; well, or at least attempt to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/174284999741/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-13)


	14. Chapter 14

In a way, it was like betraying Derek and the pack -- Derek and  _his_ pack -- all over again: if normally and habitually it would have been Gerard he was joining hands with, then now it was no other than the right hand of _Deucalion_.

He had no idea how he was even going to physically open the door, when it thankfully was being open even before he finished to cross the entire hall.

Marin Morrell wore her representative gentle, pursed-lipped smile. Comparing to earlier instances where it was directed at Stiles, there was something more genuine in it this time: instead of sympathy, which had never convinced Stiles anyway, there was some amusement in it.

Looking at her also made him wonder why Harris chose to put on a boring, annoying face like the one he had, when they could pick and control the way the look.

“It almost feels like a reunion,” she admitted as her eyes surveyed him. “You’ve grown so much since our last meeting.”

“I can’t say the same when you’ve just preserved your youthful look as usual,” Stiles responded, “but at least I can now tell why your eyes look way older than your so-called genetically well-kept face.”

She tilted her head to the side. “And here I thought I’ve done a good job in hiding that. Oh well, you were always the observant.”

She moved aside and let him in, and Stiles felt how her eyes did not leave him for a second as he passed her and sat down. What was there for her to stare at, after spending a couple of months pouring his heart out in front of her?

After thinking of her as such a skilled therapist, it suddenly looked like it was futile to hope to one day find a good one in the supernatural world.

“So, before we talk about the Golden Apples, I’ll let myself to just ask you this for now, so I know how much I can trust you.” Stiles waited for her to take a seat as well. “What’s your deal with Deucalion?”

Her smile curled a bit higher, almost with disdaining challenge; he really should think twice before opening himself up in front of any professional.

“Aren’t you the one who brought a club in that bag of yours?” She finally tore her eyes off of him to look at his bag down next to him.

Stiles looked down at his bag, and then at her. “After the birds-kamikaze incident today, you _really_ think I can let myself go anywhere unprepared? But while I use my skills for protection purposes, there we have you, inciting Werewolves packs against each other.”

Her expression remained unimpressed. “Even if you choose to see it that way, the fact is that he is presently in a coma, as we speak.”

“Until he’s 100% dead it stays as relevant and topical as before.”

The counsellor hummed. “It seems like you have always been so uptight around me and my Brothers because your subconscious has been able to sense that we were marked as rivals to your kind. But I’m sure you’re smart enough to distinguish between the Titans who were sent straight to the Tartarus and those who -- ”

“ -- I don’t have time for you protecting your damaged pride,” Stiles cut her off impatiently. “The only reason I tended to question you and Deaton was that you always round the subject instead of answering the damn question. I won’t be surprised if the three of you were sent there originally, and then were thrown all the way back up here because even the Tartarus itself couldn’t stand you.”

Morrell’s smile went down as she laid back in her chair. “Unlike implied by the legend, my role isn’t literally holding Ouranos in his current image as the incarnation of the sky, but maintaining the balance between men and the Olympian world, so Earth will not come apart by the fall of the Olympus. The main source of chaos traditionally follows the legendary Demigod of that time, and they are the ones to eventually put an end to it. Until then, by siding with Deucalion, I could supervise this time’s largest source of chaos closely.”

“You didn’t really stop chaos from happening by trapping Derek and his pack inside a closed ring of mountain ash, now did you?”

“What happens inside a community, both of humans and creatures of spark, is nothing of my concern, as long as no human gets hurt or gets exposed to them. All I had to do was building Deucalion’s trust so he would share his plans with me and listen to my advice.”

Her matter-of-factly tone came cold to Stiles’ ears.

He did not care how much childish acts the Titan had had to stop during her lifetime on Earth- listening to someone talking about important people in his life like that was unacceptable.

Suddenly the thought of sharing so many private details about his Father terrified him, too.

“They _should_ be! I couldn’t get rid of Deucalion and his Alpha-wannabe’s if it wasn’t for them! Even when the trouble came from the human side, like with the Kanima, who _attacked_ humans, and they were to do what is apparently your job and fought right beside me and my friends. We all did the dirty job for you, but maybe I’m just wasting time on a delusional idiot whose master plan was to lick Werewolves’ asses and hope for the best.”

She nodded with an entertained huff, swinging her chair a bit. “Unrestrained profanity. Perseus would be proud.”

“Not if I’m late to save more people who get me because I didn’t finish my Labour as soon as I could. Unless, like what I got so far from this talk, you have other interests to meet with me which none of them is helping me.”

The psychologist clicked her tongue in a sarcastic fond matter. “Careful, Stiles; you hurry to judge again,” she scoffed lightly, causing him to roll his eyes. “I am full of gratitude for the help you’ve provided for my Brothers, and fortunately for you, I know you enough to trust you with the burden, which I cannot carry while being too far away from Beacon Hills to watch over it, which should have been the real problem here.”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “Oh, wait, seriously? I mean, good, great, just as you should.” He cleared his throat. “So what’s that burden, exactly?”

“During the time of Ancient Greece,” Morrell began to tell, “Olympus was, in fact, on the top of the mountain known by the same name in Greek. The world did not look the same as it is today: Ouranos’ divine embodiment -- which you know as the atmosphere -- was much smaller, extending to a much lower point than what we have today. That was until the new humans who evolved after the flood ended up as disappointing as their predecessors. The Olympians, and Zeus in particular, wished to separate themselves from the bothering world of men, even if they lost some of their absoluteness and monopoly over natural phenomena and resources. They would still be able to manipulate nature, but not be the force _itself_ \- dedicating this power for the purpose of getting their peace and quiet instead. Olympus slowly rose above the terrain, and on the same time Ares and Athena left the Ancient Greeks’ side entirely and devoted themselves to the Romans instead, as though they were the fictional, alternate version that the Romans made of them. Soon, the Olympians’ existence became a thing of the past, then a faith of a dead culture, then nothing but a myth.”

“Not that I complain, but why didn’t they just choose the easy way to solve it by getting rid us completely?” Stiles asked, instinctively cautious even though he knew that even if they heard him at that moment, it was probably too late for them to rethink their decision.

“Men are the current keepers of the world- granting their safety is a necessity of Olympians after giving up on that role. The Olympus depends on its existence just like all the mortal living creatures do. Of course, humans themselves were too invaluable, which ensures in return, as well, that Demigods will always be here to deal with monstrous creatures of spark. Your family has is a good example of that.”

Stiles clenched his fist.

“The problem began when Lycaon, in his wolf shape, along with other of his followers, were allowed on the arc, and by that were saved from the flood as well. Then they met the children of my Brothers and me, who inherited our dormant divine force and converted it into spark. This bloodline is known today as the Druids, and when they joined hands with those who were punished, and helped them turn their punishment into a source of power- the Olympians suddenly realized the potential danger. The Druids and Werewolves alone cannot fight the Olympus, but the mind of men can increase and expand the range of impact of any creature of spark. This is why Zeus punished my Brother so cruelly for fetching the element fire for men: there was a chance for mortals to become aware of them again, and with their advanced technology combined with the Druids’ spark- they could beat the little remaining power they had left, since most of it went to keeping the Olympus in its place. That was how they finally found a service to grant me: making sure that once the right parties will never work together to destroy it.”

“Hubris hits once more, though they’ve learnt nothing, with how they behave today,” Stiles snorted. “Well, at least it only screwed them this time.”

“Not quietly,” the Titan contradicted. “Now that Mother Gaea has long being torn from her force of divinity, nature, as I said earlier -- ”

“ - _Mother_ Gaea?” Stiles questioned the term which she chose to use. “Isn’t she your Grandmother or something? Unless it’s come from the messed-up family tree of the gods’ family tree, with how parents sometimes bear babies with their own children.”

“It is a serious problem, as not only their kingdom will be ruined, but the entire planet with it, as it has long lost its faculty to carry the Olympus,” Morrell continued as though Stiles had said nothing at all. “It is a known fact, and yet Werewolves either don’t act careful enough or strive to get a hold on the leadership of the world. Either way, the Olympians would become known for men once again, and it is guaranteed that it would follow with everything falling apart. This is the balance of the world, the spark that keeps everything together; and I carry it.”

“But why did they choose you, if you’re related to all those Druids who work with Werewolves?” Stiles asked further.

“Besides worshipping Hecate, the Deity of Mystiokinesis, they have always believed in the idea of peace, and have taken care of maintaining it even before I was given this job. There are not many like Deucalion who got blind enough by the power to wish to have me as their Emissary, just because I am a Titan. The Olympians will never go to war against Druids, either, because they are as important for the world on men as men themselves: spark works like the ecological system in the nature; like the predators are a necessity for the herbivores as much as they are their killers, as you can see in different food chains, spark works in the same way, only not directly. They have to give back of the gift they were granted by Mother Gaea back to her, and believe in the idea of peace in general. It is rare for them to use it in dark ways.”

“So what about the Darach? If you want the humans to never learn about spark, why are you here instead of tracking them down?”

Morrell kept staring at him with a blank look, and stretched her hand across the table. “I can get into this certainly interesting subject, but I thought you said your time was valuable.”

It was a bit suspicious, but especially disappointing. Stiles meant to kill two birds with one stone, and use this opportunity to learn more about the Darrah and the Werewolves world in general.

Nevertheless, was right; it could wait for later, when he did not have an immediate measure to advance in the solution of one problem in front of him, which could eventually help with the other.

He swallowed, his eyes moving fast from her hand to her eyes and back and forth.

“So, when you called it a burden…” Stiles started to say as he put his own hand on hers, but with what happened next, there was no way he could continue it.

-

He did not become dizzy, which was weird, considering how the world had changed around him: it was like his chair stayed in one place, but everything else did 180 degrees turn, and now was at the opposite direction as it has been just a moment ago, as though East became West.

The shadow beneath his chair was going forth at the moment, while he was certain it had been going behind it just before he had touched Morrell; a scratch that was on the right side of the table suddenly appeared on the left, mirrored.

But it was more than falling into another realm; it was like he was finally looking at the real scenery after staring at its reflection in the water the entire time. That way, he did not only see the scratch on the table on a reversed angle, but other details about it were presented as well, clear as day: the force it had taken in order to create it, the depth and the impact being left on the table was clearer.

Was he in a parallel universe, or was he just moved to another dimension that echoed his, which made it possible to see things from another point of view without really leaving it, almost like his universe'  _shadow_?

Whatever kind of alternative reality he had gotten to, it was for sure that his body was not built to stand it; he was shivering, sweating all over. It was a miracle that he did not break apart immediately by the weakness in his body.

The chair he was sitting on was close to the table, but he was so desperate to get to the ground that he fell off of it anyway- just in case that on the floor, as close as he could be to the source of gravity, the sensation would be a little more bearable.

For a moment he was wondering if he was teleported to a copy of the room in a ship, until he realized that the instability feeling of the ground was, in a matter of fact- the turn Earth itself. It was spinning, rattling like a machine that had needed to be oiled a long time ago.

How could Morrell refer to _that_ as a _Mother_?

Lying down only added to the heaviness inside his head, so he slowly pushed himself up -- if indeed it was still considered as such, as directions felt as non-relevant as they are in space -- to a sitting position.

As strong Stiles he could feel the gravity to be, sensing it still made him sensitive to the knowledge that there is nothing physical that keeps him close to the ground, and he had to cling onto the cupboard he was leaning against in panic- but neither this or anything else around him was rooted enough to the ground in order to rely on it. There was nothing that could satisfy him like that, frankly; the more he was going through this newly required sense, the more he got overwhelmed by all that he could feel: all of the different natural phenomena in the area around the building, all sorts of currents, radiations and various types of fields.

But the more he was sitting there and tried to process it all, getting used to this sharp change in exposure capability and sensitivity to the planet’s fundamental forces, the more it was apparent to him that the greatest source of heaviness came from nowhere but within _himself_ , almost like all those forces were relayed on him; connected to him in something similar to slender strings, only not really.

Looking down at his hands, he was volatilizing golden aura -- apparently, that shit was actually _real_ \-- that was flaming like he was a Super Saiyan or something. He wondered whether it was like that because he was given the powers of a Titan, or was the same as what Derek had seen back when he had asked him what he was for the first time.

Just as he wondered what an aura of a whole-divined being looked like, though without her powers- he finally noticed that Morrell had already left the room, and even closed the door behind her.

Was he supposed to just stay there and wait? How could she leave without telling him what he was supposed to do with this?

In any case, he had to go outside to get some fresh air. Staying in such a small, fragile room did not do well to him.

-

The more he was getting closer to the exit, the more data he was attacked with, which was supposed to be too much to handle for his ADHD brain, and yet somehow it functioned enough to carry himself him outside.

That goes without saying that he had no idea how long he had stayed at Morrell’s office; but with constantly being aware of the life around him, and of everything that the wind touched and was split by as stood in its path- it was like literally nothing could have gone unnoticed.

But more than anything- everything was depended on him and his performance.

He sat for a while on the driver seat before actually starting driving; it should have been the best state that could be for sitting behind the steering wheel, but the overwhelming feeling of being aware of absolutely _everything_ was exhausting, along with the weight of the responsibility that left him out of breath.

It seemed like he indeed was doing too much while his body struggling to cope with that tremendous weight of power at the same time, and so he had to pull over a couple of times to shakenly empty his stomach content to the side of the road.

He got to a point where he prepared himself a bath, which he had not undergone through since even before elementary school -- not that he normally had any self-caring routines -- only he felt so awful that he just had to rest in warm water. It did nothing to relieve the pain in his muscles, though, which ached like there was something keeping them strained, and the only real way to get his mind off of that was by closing his eyes.

He did not really get into a meditate state, but it was easy to lose himself when, instead of pure blackness, he started seeing more and more different essences of the supernatural -- which literally looked like sparks, different in colour and size -- like what had really been hidden behind his lids, that entire time, was a map of Beacon County’s supernatural beings, and it kept growing to show even further areas.

It was not that easy to keep on track with every little detail, though, which he knew he had to learn soon, if he wanted to take advantage of those new senses to try tracking down the Darach themselves. This unending endeavour to not break down under the barely tolerable load, which was almost like fighting the water pressure of a deep pool, left him in no form to fight as well.

And so, he began to read any little spark one by one, on his own natural pace, inside that growing network he developed in his mind.

He wanted to go to Scott first, but instinctively his vision point-of-view, where he only found Erica, Boyd and Isaac. He had no idea where either Derek or Cora were, but even though they could have simply gone together to a grocery store, he had a hunch that something was wrong- especially with how melancholy the sparky essence of three Betas had seemed to be.

He even found Lydia, who turned out to be a  _Banshee_ , as it seemed. At least it explained why the bite for Peter only had connected between them so she could find and revive him later; Stiles had no idea why discovering about her mystery had not been the first thing that had come to his mind.

When he finally found the one of Scott, he appeared to be not very peaceful as well- and it was then where his eyes snapped open to the sound of his phone in his room going off with yet another message he had gotten from him- which was added to others he had received in the past hour.

It was a good thing that at least the water had gotten cold anyway, because he knew what the messages were probably about, and it would not have motivated him to leave the bath.

Even though it was the party of his childhood friend, Heather, it was not about her; in fact, he actually missed her, and really wanted to witness for himself just how well he had fostered her to be a proper geek during the time they still kept in touch, as, unfortunately, he could have never trusted her big Brother to do the job.

It had been a great while since he had seen Heather- her Mother had been a close friend of his, and as a kid, he had used to meet her quite frequently, just about every few Sundays. He had not seen her a lot after his Mother’s death, though, especially since the incident with his guitar teacher. Honestly, Stiles could not blame her Mother for not allowing Heather to hang out with him on her own anymore.

He seriously should work at that more, though. After shutting down Hera’s shenanigans, he should use all of his free time to meet his friends out of school -- like Pholly and the Drama Queens -- because this was not typical for him and no more excuses were acceptable.

Well, that was in case it was a mutual desire, of course. He was not sure whether Heather had only invited him in order to thank him for inviting her to Lydia’s birthday party last year -- as trippy as it had ended up to be -- or wished to renew their touch after all those years like him, but was happy regardless to be there.

Whatever the case was, he was at no state to take part in an event as a party, but as reluctant as he was, he knew that maybe a distraction like this was exactly what both of them needed at that point.

At that moment he was already being late, but knew he had to hurry instead of letting Scott arriving there on his own; even though alcohol had no effect on him as a Werewolf, someone had to drive him there so he would not be caught driving with alcohol remains in his breath anyway.

Oh, if only he could let _himself_ drink; but at least until he was over with both of the remaining over, it was out of the question for him.

He sighed, realizing only a second later that he was able to catch a fly without even thinking about it much while checking the texts. Even though he knew most of Morrell’s power had been taken away from her, it was scary to think she was carrying those abilities within her.

The last thing Stiles had the patience to listen to at that moment was Scott’s awkward situation with Allison, unlike earlier at school when he had wanted to fill his head with anything but his problems- but with the Darach possibly preparing for their next move at that very moment, which was a battle where Stiles could actually allow himself an ally- the last thing he wanted was to leave him upset.

But what Scott first started with as he entered the Jeep, though, pissed Stiles off even more: seeking for help regarding his vanished tattoo, Derek had been nowhere to be found when Scott had searched for him in the Loft, and apparently, he had left Isaac behind to watch over it while he was driving Cora back to South America.

And what the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Even if they had secretly waited until school would start to do this, why had he not taken the rest of his pack of their own? Why could he not wait at least until Stiles achieved a protection over the town?

There was no way he was more protective over Cora than the rest of the pack, but it was still hard for Stiles to find another way to see it.

But it had to wait for later; he explaining to Scott the situation the rest of the way to the party, ignoring his questions as to why Derek would want to get away from Beacon Hills in the first place- but it seemed too much for Scott to understand, especially with how his bad mood kept him zoning out, whether it was because of Derek or Allison.

When he finally parked, Stiles knew it was time to get rid of that annoying moody expression on his friend’s face, even if he wore the same one himself behind his cheerful mask.

“So tonight,” he declared to his friend, “no Allison, no Lydia, and especially _no Derek_. Tonight, we're moving on.”

Scott agreed with him, and after they high-fived they entered the house.

Instead of loud music, it was everyone’s energies that he was attacked with; he could have already sensed them from outside of the house, but with the way the high mood was burst out on him the moment he opened the door, it became even more apparent to him how heavy his breath remained no matter what.

It was because of this that he did not notice when someone called his name and then shut his gaping, soundless mouth with a kiss.

“So glad you made it!” Heather said excitedly, with a shiny smile on her face.

“Yeah, me too!” Stiles agreed automatically; considering he stood there frozen with shock, he had no idea how she could have missed his cheek- but after finding no change in her flashy smile, he realized this was actually how she had meant to greet him.

But the more he looked at it, the more he noticed _why_ her expression seemed so bright, literally.

What the --

“Come downstairs with me and help me pick out a bottle of wine,” she asked him with a gleam in her eye which clearly suggested there was more coming.

Stiles stared at the glowing aura around her, which, even though it was smaller than his, there was enough of it for him to tell that it was _very_ similar in shape and colour to his, for a reason he had least expected to discover about his childhood friend.

He did not intend to keep Scott on his own before they found a partner for him, but there was too much to investigate- and he could not have waited to do that in the best way possible.

“Yes!” He eventually replied wholeheartedly, and let her take his hand and lead him to the wine cellar.

As attractive as Heather was, he had never fantasized about doing that kind of activity with her, especially not in a place containing pure memories of them building badass starship crafts from wine corks, playing ring tosses with empty bottles and ropes and competing in pulling a candle into a bottle.

Heather did not seem experience the same sense of nostalgia, though, as once they went down the stairs she hurried to shut his thoughts up with another kiss.

It was not his first, even if he acted as though he had no experience: His first kiss had been shared with a girl named Tina Manos, during a _Seven Minutes In Heaven_ game in his freshman year- the embarrassing year where he had attempted getting popular by taking the role of the party-spicier guy who comes with the craziest ideas, such as casting lots between the party guests for pranking the neighbors and eating jello from underneath someone else’s shirt. At the first attempt of the latter it had been the peak of the party, and at the next, he had been slapped the moment he had poured the bowl through the girl’s cleavage.

And, in retro-respective, _rightfully so_.

That aside, at least Stiles’ first year of high school was wild for much less dark reasons. Also, kind of ridiculous, and with too many car-surfing through the town on top of a van while wearing unmatching colourful clothes.

But there he was, in the first day of his Junior year, and there was still nothing spectacular that Stiles could find about someone’s lips simply lingering on his. The only thing that was different to the point it left him completely stunned was the fact it was happening with Heather, and the way she caressed his neck, down to his chest.

It was nice to have someone touching him that tenderly for a chance, after everything he had gone through, but at the same time it felt somehow _too_ soft, almost like what he was really looking for had to have some kind of roughness sensation in it.

Okay, seriously this time, what the fuck was _wrong_ with him?

As Heather took him deeper into the basement, and shared with him her plan of losing her virginity.

Even though it had been clear from the beginning, he felt like he did not have the slightest clue of what he was doing.

It was not like he was not curious to finally cross more boundaries into adulthood, or that he had never planned on saving his first time for any reason- but with all those currents rushing around him, beating in his ears like the sound of the waves on floating on the water, and the shockwave-like feedbacks of the heartbeats in the floor above him, he was not inside that moment as much as he wanted to.

And there was this glow around her, which was more important than any of that- but he could not comment about that before another kiss made him close his eyes and losing himself again to elsewhere.

Instead, he carefully caressed her hair in return, making her feel as cherished as possible while giving her what she wished for- those were the moments he had to prove how loyal to the end he was once he was chosen by someone.

As they proceed to make out, he jerked a little once she touched his belt, and they looked at each other in an awkward silence.

He knew it should be understandable since it was his first time, but because it was him- he could not help but judge himself and feeling like his child for reacting like that instead of moaning or anything close to that. Luckily, Heather did not care about that.

“Do you want to? I mean, would you be okay with that?” She asked him eventually, seeking his gaze as he searched for comfort in the beverages surrounding them- with which he was familiar from as far back as he was still a kid.

Stiles laughed nervously, breathlessly both because the situation and his condition, and was about to answer that before he recalled.

“Wait, before that, there’s something I should -- ”

“ -- In the upstairs bathroom. My Brother has some.”

Stiles stared at her confused before he understood what he implied.

“Oh, you mean…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He parroted awkwardly, then shook his head; he should question her about her aura before she would disappear for the rest of the party, as at this point more than ever he had no time to wait with uncovering this mystery.

“Go get them!” She shoved him to the direction of the exit, and luckily he did not lose his balance, which could have ended badly in his state.

Okay, so doing anything further was really out of the question for him; he was worse than drunk, and it would not be okay either for him or her.

“Are you okay?” She asked carefully, when he just kept standing there for longer than he should have. “You keep breathing weirdly, too.”

After thinking about it a few seconds more, Stiles eventually determined to roll with it just for a bit.

She expected it so much, so he could not start making any questions and possibly scare her without proving her he had no bad intentions. At least she would be ready when she found a better guy to take down there instead of him.

“Yeah, just- just a little too excited,” he turned back to smile at her apolitically, as though he was simply nervous, to which she returned a sympatric smile of her own.

He ran upstairs, and was just starting to have a meltdown by size complex when something other began bothering him on; like one of the endless strings that connected everything to him -- the same way a circle has an infinite number of diameters – was suddenly vibrating.

It was not forceful or painful in anyway, and yet startling enough to make him to hold the two grab bathes so hard that he almost ripped them out as he panted with hysteria, as though someone started playing with the very fibers of his heart, and his sight blurred the same way that was the effect of someone touching the surface of water, sending his head spinning.

How could something happen _so_ soon after he had received the guarding duty?

And not only that, but it sent it to no other place but Heather’s cellar, where she was the only one who was supposed to wait there for him.

He sprinted downstairs again, and arrived there in time to hear the last of Heather’s scream as her legs were completely pulled through one of the windows; everything around was a mess, the aftermath of Heather’s desperate struggle, and only a lone shoe was left on the floor from when she had taken both of them off earlier- which he managed to spot thanks to the dust-like residue of its owner’s aura that floated around it.

All those incidents in the last twenty-four hours, and he had not taken a moment to think Heather might be included in the next one.

How could he be so _stupid_?

He quickly found Scott awkwardly standing by himself at one of the corners of the living room, and grabbed his hand as he led him back outside.

Scott kept demanding answers after him, but all Stiles could do was focusing on Heather’s energy and the other one, which was undoubtedly of the Darach.

Both of them were getting away fast, though not above the speed limit, which meant Stiles there was a good chance for Stiles to catch to them before it was too late.

“Let’s get my Jeep,” he ordered to Scott, and gestured for him to follow him to the parking lot.

When they eventually found the Jeep, Scott asked him once more where they were going, and Stiles wished he could tell.

“No idea,” Stiles admitted, cursing under his breath as his Jeep found this moment as a great timing to refuse to be started.

Scott carefully waited for a few moments before he dared to question him. “How do you know something’s wrong?”

The Jeep came to live at last. “Heather wasn’t there when I went to the bathroom -- ”

“ -- You went to the _bathroom_?”

Stiles frowned at the road ahead, trying to figure where to turn according to the direction he could feel Heather at the Darach at. “Did you really expect me to do it without protection? I’m a little out of it, yeah, but not to the point where I’ll do something that irresponsible, even if I was on drugs.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I could _feel_ her taken.”

“By the Darach?”

“No, by a coyote.” Stiles rolled his eyes; it was the worst time for Scott’s slowness. “Yes, dumbass, of course by the Darach! You had a few months without it, lucky you, but you should set your mind back to this mode just like you did with school.”

There were a few moments of quiet, which Stiles was thankful for, until Scott came up with a weird question

“How do you know how to use it so quickly?”

As far as Stiles concerned, it was not the control or understanding of the prowess itself- but the burden of having it. In exchange for having the necessary instincts assimilated in him good enough to not need any instruction, he was continually in pain by the addition of power which his body had no idea how to contain, but it had only gotten worse the more he got farther from the trouble which had pulled the string, whenever he had picked a wrong turn.

“I- I just _do_ , okay? Who cares as long as it works in our favour.” He looked at Scott through the rearview mirror, and saw something not entirely convinced in the other’s expression. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that, when she came to greet you, she really smelled like she was, well, _wanting_. It has a very… distinct smell. I learned it from you, actually,” he chuckled.

Stiles gave him an irritated look that made it clear it was not the time for that.

“I’m just trying to connect things!” Scott hurried to clarify. “You also have a crush on Lydia, right? And you saw her just before that Deer-god attacked. And today at class, you two talked right before the birds suicide started.”

Stiles swallowed. **“** So you’re saying she acts according to my arousal? Even when I’m not aware of it?”

“That’s the only common factor. You didn’t sense any animal involved in it this time, right?”

Stiles pressed the brakes sharply; Scott had a point, a terrifying, _way_ too well point, but there was no way he could think of where to turn next like that.

He closed his eyes, trying to match the location of the targeted car to the map on Beacon Hills in his head- when he suddenly figured it out.

If _indeed_ it was all revolved around Stiles as well, then there was only one place she could be taken to.

-

They arrived by Stiles and Heather’s old nursery school.

With the shoe that had been left behind, and being taken away into the night in such a late hour, both very Cinderella-like- he was not that much surprised to end up there; it all was associated with a children book, after all.

Even if the place was also suspiciously located above a crossroads-like of currents.

In any case, Stiles did not have time to be washed with nostalgia at the familiar building, though, and the moment he turned off the Jeep he rushed to the backseat to get his bat.

“What’s that?” Scott, once again, questioned the wrong things.

“Well, you got claws- I got a bat,” Stiles replied impatiently, and passed him to get to inside as fast as he could.

They unsurprisingly found that the entrance door locked, and Stiles kicked it down.

Heather was tied to a chair in the middle of the main, darkened room. She was humming vaguely as though she was conscious, but not completely awake.

He could not believe she was _that_ close to being sacrificed.

Stiles was right by her side in a heartbeat. “Hey, Heather, it’s Stiles. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m taking you out.”

“Stiles…” Scott whispered as Stiles busied himself with tearing up the ropes.

“What?” He was about to turn around to Scott when something had caught his eyes.

A heavily scarred, extremely disturbing looking face wearing a dark, old-fashioned mantle was staring at them. Whatever scorched the being, it did it to the point where it was completely bold, and aside all its feature being completely crooked- there were no lips to cover the rotten teeth inside its mouth.

It was nothing like any monster he had run into until that moment- especially the high pitch screech it made.

Scott ran right into it, growling in his Werewolf form- but with a single, simple hand movement by the creature, he was sent right back by a shockwave.

“Leave it to me, keep an eye on Heather!” Stiles told Scott, preparing his bat as he prepared to attempt his own move against the mysterious species.

It tried to flip him as well with another energy blast- but Stiles was able to stay standing against it, which was no surprise considering the difference in their auras, and capitalized the Darach’s shock to make the rest of the way towards it.

Stiles pressed the button to get the spikes out as he swung the bat- only it did not reach the being when he wielded the weapon at it, meeting an energy shield instead.

As it did leave some impact on it, the Darach tried to step back, but Stiles weaved his bat two more times until he finally broke through the shield.

The creature fell right to the ground, grunting in an unnatural voice as it held into its bleeding shoulder.

“Disappointment.”

Stiles turned around at once, with keeping his bat held high.

The source of the voice was not as tall as the rest of _them_ \- but perhaps it was just because he matched himself to the low ceiling. In addition, unlike the others Stiles had met so far- he wore a golden armour, and his head was covered with a Corinthian helmet, a typical Ancient Greek design, but there was still no doubt to him that this being was a Deity.

Surprisingly, though, this time it was Stiles himself who identified the one in front of him, and not his additional instincts; he could not read the Deity at all or see his aura, probably because the Deities were the very reason for those powers, as they were supposed to work the Olympian Deities in the first place. That and the possibility of seeing the Deities’ true shape through their aura.

Not that Stiles cared who exactly that Deity was anyway- as all he cared about was the fact his foot was currently on top of Scott’s head, who was lying helplessly on the floor.

How could that happen within seconds, while Stiles had had his back turned to him? And why were his reading abilities suddenly ineffective just when he needed them more than ever?!

“You have failed me, child,” the divine one said to Heather for some reason- who was still sitting on the chair, breathing heavily though finally free of wires, and was more aware of her surroundings. “And you deserve the impact by any you could not fight against.”

Stiles barely paid attention to the words as, from the point in the room he was at that moment, he suddenly noticed she was bleeding from the back of her head- which brought the worry in his heart right back to life, after it had lighted down momentarily once he saw she was alright.

Stiles lifted his bloodstained bat, when a hand was raised to stop him.

“If we battle, it shall not be for the sake of your friends -- ”

“ -- Get the fuck off of Scott and leave Heather alone _now_ ,” Stiles demanded.

The still unknown Deity now turned to fully face him fully- squeezing Scott’s head even further in the process, who screamed in agony. “How _dare_ you interrupting me.”

Stiles knew he had to create some kind of distraction before making a move- but perhaps making his rival to lose his focus by angering him enough could work even better for him.

“And let you go on and on with your villain speech about your personal values, and try to sell yourself off as the best god? Yeah, I know how it goes, but not this time. But whoever you are, you’re no different than the annoying rest.”

A deep groan came from underneath the helmet, and once hands were reached to it in order to take it off- Stiles took the chance and charged forward.

But what seemed as an act that would make one open for an attack, turned out as a wrong observation by Stiles- as an elbow was enough to not only blocking Stiles’ bat, but seizing the momentum to hurl Stiles away into the wall.

His vision went blurry again, and only the sensation of Heather and Scott still being there, counting on him, helped him keep holding on.

Not that he knew if he even would be able to sleep with this divine vision.

“Oh my, you use a weapon who slew mere monsters to battle _me_?” The Deity laughed as he took off the helmet. “That stung my pride, why would you do that? You would have a better chance with the rattle you used to scare my precious Stymphalians away.”

He kicked Scott away, like his body was not more than a tiny stone, and turned around to Stiles once again.

Although the sharp jaw and cheekbones of his face, that was finally visible for him, reminded to him a little of someone else he could not currently recall*, any other feature -- the eyes, the wavy chestnut-blond hair and the blue bright eyes -- were the same as someone else who he could clearly remember, as she was sitting right there in that very room.

Ever since he had met her at the party, he had become aware that she was a Demigod like him. Some things would make a whole lot sense from this point, when he would think of the friendship between Heather and his Mothers over.

But as frustrating as it was to only now being exposed to the fact that he knew someone just like him his entire life, although he had no idea for how long she was aware of that herself- he knew it had to be saved for later.

“Stiles, please, run!” Heather begged in a weak voice.

The Deity laughed once more. “Why I’m Ares, Deity of war. Meeting a battleworthy piece of meat, quite prime as him- I want him no further than me than that. My appetite is up!”

 Oh, that was right- that was why he had mentioned the Labour with the murderous Stymphalian birds earlier; so in addition to facing the Deity of was himself, with his starting point being lower than ever, Ares was holding a grudge against Stiles as it was. Stiles could not _wait_ to see what else could go wrong.

But as fucked as they were, he was not ready to show it, not in his face.

Stiles slowly got up. “So that’s all your doing, everything that had happened in the last few days with the Darach?”

“No. I have not interfered at all before now, once I sensed the defeat of one of my offsprings.” Ares pointed with his head at Heather. There were a couple of moles on his shoulder, that was also visible on Heather’s bare one. “When something is so annoying, it is a pleasure to see it die- even if by a Darach.”

Stiles knew all the Deities were assholes in some way -- it was in his own blood too -- but that type of sadistic attitude toward something so important to him was something Stiles could not tolerate.

He knew he could not afford to have his thoughts storm, which would make him miss warning signs, but it was hard not to breathe even more shakenly that he already did while forcefully repressing his feelings.

But with a short glance at both of his friends, it was clear that he still had to work on keeping the enemy away from his friends, and the need to protect them finally won.

“So, does that mean there’s no chance of you putting that aside just this one time and… _not_? Are you sure? Is that your final answer? Bank’s closed?” Stiles cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, I’ve heard I can be very annoying for quite a few times in my life. My ability for that may be unlike anything you’ve seen before, even greater than my strength. So please, if you don’t want to experience it yourself- go at _me_ first.”

The Deity of battlelust made a sour, unpleased expression. “Fight you? Of course- though I must not kill you under Zeus’ order. Fortunately, I have my ways to beat that hero status out of you so he shall take it back.”

Great, just what Stiles needed- to make out of this alive while losing all the resume he had risked himself time and time again for.

“Though, fool, do not think I change my mind about the others.” He spat in disgust. “Other mortals will not wake up or be able to leave their house, but as if I let the swan-of-a-child or even the filthy mortal escape.”

It still meant that he would go through Stiles first before trying to get to them again, so Stiles willingly agreed. “Then trap them here, inside. Let’s finish this outside.”

“Wait.” Scott walked behind Heather’s chair, keeping a sure distance between him and Ares. “I’ll help you.”

“No, he’s way worse than the Darach over there. You have to stay and keep an eye on me.” Stiles threw him his bat, as it was proved to be much more effective against the creature, that was still lying on the ground, than Scott’s strength had been.

Scott nodded incredulously. Stiles could not be more relieved that he had never taken him to any of his fights- his lack of trust with Stiles’ assessments could have been deadly.

Well, it was not like Stiles could think of anyone else that a collab with them could be enough against a Deity of war, and no training or experience which Stiles had gathered had prepared him enough to deal with that on his own at all.

And even if he miraculously would find a way through this- it would come with a terrible price. The last thing he needed right now was another injury like the one he had had to carry for almost two months and had just healed from. He could not risk having weak points at the last push he had to give at those two Labours.

Fortunately, Stiles indeed could pick up no presence of a living being that was currently outside, and wished that at least it would stay just as empty for the next few minutes. There was no need for more than that, though, because, what was for sure- the combat was going to end fast.

“I sense all the many nerves which are raging through your mind,” Ares said, his figure emerging in front of Stiles out of the thin air with the helmet back on, “hopefully you will unleash it all on me.”

When Stiles’ mind turned quiet enough to examine his surroundings, he all of a sudden found himself in the middle of the road. It was all asleep and quiet but the buzz of a blinking, dying street light.

What embarrassment Stiles would feel if his thoughts could be heard as well by the other- how, instead of worrying about the upcoming fight and its effects on the neighbourhood street, he only had his anxieties whirring in his mind.

But would he really let his friends  _die_ because of this?

He could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline in his veins, but there was also something different about it; or rather _rare_ , because he could not remember feeling something like it ever since Derek had been in an immediate danger by the Gigante, and afterwards by Deucalion.

No matter how angry he was with him at that moment, for leaving his pack behind, he did not regret for a moment for anything they had been through. And damn if he would make Derek regret by not using every ounce of strength he was born with against Ares. 

When Coach Finstock taught him wrestling, he remembered being told by him that the best first move -- when it was Stiles who had to do it -- was to pour all the distractions he had in his mind into one move, as expected as it may be, so they would be cleared away for another, this time serious move to be wittily delivered.

So with the first punch he tore into the Deity with, Stiles did just that- striking with the entire of the self-destructive spirit he had inside. The targeted one easily moved aside and grabbed his wrist, but Stiles was ready for him to utilize the attack once again, and as he was thrown away- he caught the other’s fingers at the last second with his free hand, and pulled his rival even higher above himself -- as Stiles was still in the air himself –- to be able to, subsequently, and through a battle cry, throw him further away, sending him flying away instead.-

Ares landed on his feet, unshaken by the immense strength exposure.

He took the metal cover of one of the houses’ trash cans and threw it at Stiles like a discus. Stiles escaped it by rolling aside.

“What’s wrong, I thought a god like you ca-Ares his weapons wherever he goes?” Stiles taunted the Deity, letting the rage he was afraid of for so long to take a hold of him out of his free will.

“You will never know a sharper weapon than my hits,” Ares declared before storming into him with moves fast as the wind.

Stiles tried to dodge as much as he could; he had to avoid even coming to reach contact while blocking the blows, as his body was not as supernaturally durable as his strength, and only countered once at rare instances- which, of course, took more power than he had ever had to use on an opponent, and Ares had great counters of his own.

When a punch did hit him, he did his best to ignore the pain so long he could prevent a worse one which would leave a critical damage on him.

“Impressive,” the Deity noted between blows. “You’re still on your feet after one of my punches. Clearly, you’re different from the rest of the trash, those who call themselves Demigods while lacking the courage in their heart to keep them standing after being hit by me, that way or another.”

His rival Demigod of that day found it hard to agree about the high level of his courage, but at least he had his cunning.

He faked a kick to Ares’ middle, and when the latter caught his leg- he used it as a leverage to press into the ground with his free one so he would jump high enough to get into the tall Deity’s eye level and greet him with an uppercut punch, and then send his clutched palm at the side of his nose.

Once the hold on Stiles’ leg was loosened and he landed back, he quickly ducked in a spinning motion and stretched a leg out, smacking with it to undermine his rival’s balance even more; it was a move Stiles had always dreamt to do, and was more than happy when it worked- only Ares was quick to throw his hands above his head so they met the ground first, and with that he jumped back on his feet.

Stiles moved back, and was shocked to find that the Deity’s jaw was crooked.

“I felt that,” Ares chuckled before he immediately ruining Stiles’ prideful moment yet again by fixing his jaw back to its original state like it was nothing, “just a little.”

Stiles’ heart dropped. It was like Ares’ special ability was growing a short-living hope in others.

“You’re a fool, but I give you credit for giving me a few scratches. Of course, they have already healed. As for you- you’re out of breath just by standing still. You won’t handle the burden for much longer.”

Ares pointed out the scary truth- while being able to watch over Heather and Scott’s condition from afar and make sure that Ares indeed kept them safe for the time being- every time Stiles went into a collision, whether with Ares or the ground, and after every blow he had unleashed- the impact affected him right back in a worse traumatic manner than it usually would, and he felt himself getting closer and closer to slipping under the effect of both the heavy burden and the fight.

He knew the Deity would not risk hit kingdom falling, but it did not mean that Stiles would not test it while fighting for his friends.

Ignoring those concerns, he tried to fake another attack, but the Deity was quick to catch both his hands in his own huge palms. Stiles jumped in an attempt for a drop-kick, but Ares dodged by squatting all of the sudden and released Stiles’ arms- and Stiles’ momentum ended in sending himself away.

He somehow stopped himself from rolling all the way to the sidewalk, but he did not cut the motion soon enough to not gain a few abrasions.

Stiles tried to get up as quickly as he could- but before he knew it, the Deity kicked at his head.

“Hear me,” Ares’ voice was not so clear now that there was ringing in his ears, and his head became lighter as though something was unplugged in his brain by the kick; he was more aware of the people inside their houses than the one right next to him which he could not sense. “The objective of a combination move is to finish your opponent all the way. Each separate attack must be delivered with an intent to nothing less than killing. Like _this_.”

He shoved his feet under Stiles’ body and threw him up a few meters above the ground and with an amazing precision- sent a knee into Stiles’ stomach while in mid-air.

For a moment -- a second, a minute, perhaps even an eternity -- all Stiles saw was his sparky aura lying there, as though looking at himself from above. When he came out of it, his body froze from all kind of functioning but trembling. His throat struggled to draw air into his lungs, though there was no way in or out. With nausea on top of that, he did not know what was worth to pay his attention to as the least worse consequence.

Just _how much_ had the Deity been holding back?!

“Oh my, isn’t this fun?” He laughed above him.

Stiles’ head did not stop to jerk in an annoying tic. He tried to speak back, but it did not come as something clearer than whistling at the first couple of attempts.

“Oh, that is quite unsightly.” Ares narrated as he picked him up from the ground.

Looking right into the Deity’s eyes, Stiles saw nothing worth to capitulate for.

“I said- as if I’ll take any advice from you,” Stiles used what may be his last, though choked, breath.

The response almost came as a roar: “As the Deity of war, any warrior in this world is mine to master, and that includes any Demigod of any Deity’s dynasty. I am the pinnacle of the pyramid that contains every single one of them! Do you dare to disappoint me too?!”

He was back on the rugged asphalt, which felt as comforting as his bed. Closing his eyes, though, he knew he was in no state of sleeping.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden? You still have more battle in you, I can _smell_ it. I have yet to test your strength properly in wrestling.”

He then held Stiles in a chokehold- although it did not choke him as much as it stopped the blood from getting to his brain. Every time Stiles got into a right position to counter the grappling, Ares pulled him back to the original state.

“You bore me, just like my offspring.  I guess that this is it for me with you, so have my greetings and goodbye.”

He pressured the hold so Stiles could not breathe as well- as though there was any point for air when the blood had already stopped streaming.

Black dots in his vision merged into a whole darkness- one that even swallowed the sparks.

 

 

Heather, whiter than the fog of nothingness behind her, is mouthing his name as the hands on her throat tightening their hold. He is confused- why can he see her face from a point view of standing right in front of her, while the hands are not his? What is this thing blocking him from reaching out- a shield he cannot see, stronger than anything he has faced? Why has she given up already on gasping for air, even if her head is becoming transparent and is starting to fade completely?!

He has to get to her, he must.

Weariness will not stop him from moving his hands further.

Harder.

As fast as he must.

 

 

He will see his end.

 

 

Stiles is finally able to dive into the water, and stretch his arms to pull Derek- using his weight to gravitate both of them into the surface.

 

 

 

Stiles was standing on the ground, all of a sudden- back at the same street in the reality he thought he had broken away from.

There were big holes in the ground, which merged into each other as both of their lower points were close, but then a loud grunt finally attracted his attention to the sound of the car alarm.

Ares was trying to release himself from a car he almost smashed to half after he had apparently been shoved into it.

Stiles looked back at the holes beneath him, and then again at the Deity.

He had done it; his strength had been enough to not only resist the weight on him and raise himself off of the ground -- which was the thing that had blocked him from reaching forward earlier in his hallucination -- but to do that with enough power to make the Deity to lose his hold on him.

But that Stiles celebration was for later, as he could not procrastinate yet; he had to take advantage of this power he had tapped out of his core to finish this.

As soon as Ares broke free of the car, he was running to Stiles’ direction. Just before his punch had landed on him, though- Stiles ducked and threw a blow of his own all the way through the other’s chest, which created a hole right in the center of it -- luckily there was not any ugly kind of body fluid to deal with – followed with a shock wave that rattled the car behind Ares until its alarm ceased.

Stiles put both of his hands inside the hole before the Deity would have a chance to grow the skin back under the broken armour, and pushed his forearms sideways, with all of his might.

“ _Better_ … _think… again_!” The Deity uttered through clenched teeth, his whole body shaking. He put both of his unstable hands on Stiles’ head, trying to penetrate his fingers into his skull.

Stiles screamed out all the air that he earned back to his lungs.

A sudden flash of light separated the two- Stiles’ body rolled in the air until it started bouncing on the grass of the house behind him before he eventually hit the wall.

Coughing, his eyes were shot right to the parallel side of the street, expecting to find Ares there- but he was nowhere to be found.

For a moment he stayed tense, ready for him to jump from somewhere at any moment- but when a figure finally appeared, it was Scott.

“I hear people from inside their houses talking about a terrorist attack and they’re calling the cops, let’s go!” He pulled Stiles’ hand, supporting him as he led him back into the nursery school building. Stiles let him, as he knew Scott could not have gotten outside unless Ares was gone, although he had no idea why he would get away so suddenly.

…Or could it be that the flash was _lightning_?

When they entered inside, the light was still off and everything else was exactly as it had been when Stiles had been teleported outside- and it was empty of both Heather or the Darach.

“Man, you were _awesome_ back there!” Scott exclaimed just as he closed the door behind them.

“You mean you _weren’t_ watching on Heather?! Where is she?” Stiles started to stress out back again.

“No, there was no need, she’s totally fine!” Scott hurried to calm him down. “She’s in the bathroom now, and that Darach thing ran away as soon as Ares disappeared.”

Stiles sighed in relief. It was not a good thing that the Darach was gone, but hopefully it was scared off for good by either Stiles’ abilities, or at least by the source of attraction he was for Deities- and those of war specifically.

What was for sure, after tonight he doubted even more what Mr. Harris had told him about the Darach- even if not working directly under Hera like Gerard, there was still a possibility it was some kind of a freelancer, or even had been advised by her to target him and earn both his power and her blessing or whatever. And if both the Darach and Nereus had been sent by Hera- then it meant he was followed by her more than ever, and turned even more desperate with her revenge, considering of how he was led to a fight in his old nursery school.

It must all be a sick kind of mind games, which meant he should get away from the others as soon as that night would end- no one could suffer the cost of knowing him.

He suddenly noticed Scott looking at him weirdly.

“What?”

“N-Nothing. I- I just can barely believe I just met a _god_. But of course you seemed even more godly than him! Seriously, you were so good, almost like in those cartoons! With more of proper training, Coach will put you on the first line as well, and then -- ”

“-- Scott,” Stiles cut him off with a sigh. “More importantly, when did you last check on her? How long is she in there?”

“I’m alright.”

Stiles turned around to see Heather coming out of the dark hallway. Her aura flamed steadily, and besides the bruises on her arms, she seemed to not be in pain at all.

“I washed everything and even found a Betadine bottle in the closet. By the way, did you know they covered the Winnie The Pooh drawing completely from there, the one where we wrote that secret message on the honey?”

“They did?! I mean, no, wait.” Stiles shook his head, and approached her to do his own inspection- especially on the scar on her neck. “Are you sure you feel okay?”

“Yes.” She rolled her eyes at his skeptical expression and laughed. “Stiles, really, I’m _okay_. I’ll even send you photos of the papers from my appointment at the doctor tomorrow, if you insist!”

“What do you mean by _tomorrow_? I’m taking you _now_ to the emergency room. You may have a concussion and not aware of it.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause you’re one to talk. Why don't _you_ sit down already? You need to catch your breath!”

“Sitting down will only make things worse, trust me, including the panting. I- I', kinda under another type of magic influence, I guess, but it's not something I can do anything about right now, even when we get out of here, so just trust me for now. But are you sure the Darach didn't do anything else to you before we made it here?”

Heather snorted. “If I look light-headed it’s because I’m excited about what I’ve just watched! I stayed in the toilet for so long because I got a better view from there of the fight. You were so incredible, and what you did when he choked you- you’ve overcome a Deity specializing in fighting in _a fight_ , do you even get how unspeakable of that is?!”

Stiles rubbed his face. “None of that should have happened in the first place.”

His old friend smiled at him. “Remember _Swan Lake_? How obsessive I was of that?”

Stiles frowned, recalling how the Deity mentioned referring to Heather as that earlier.

“Want to know why?”

Stiles snorted. “Well, if there’s a point to all those lectures you gave me of how it is the best ballet ever- even though it’s weird, because I know you love to dance more than anything, but there’s no way Ares would care enough to know about his Daughter’s interests just _because_. Which also brings the point of how there is almost no one in this town who isn’t connected to the supernatural in this way or another at this point, and it drives me completely _insane_.”

She huffed sadly. “Gosh, I missed your ramblings. I missed so much about you, to be honest. I hated when I was forbidden from even being in the same school with you, but with how Ares started to pick on me all the time, Mum thought it would be too much.”

Even though his body felt weak, he wished he would have hit Ares harder just for that.

Why could the Deities not let Demigods do their jobs of slaying monsters quietly? To think his life had been dramatic even before he had learned what he was; he was not thrilled at all to know about her experience with it.

Stiles sat Heather down on one of the low kids' table and began moving his finger from side to side in front of her face. “How long do you know?”

She smiled as she shoved his hand away. “Since I can remember, I think. I don’t have powers like you, but unlike you, it made it necessary for me to know what I am to keep myself safe- both of us, because back then Mum had no intent to cut out friendship short one day. I was meant to look for you when your family won’t be there, where only the supernatural will be able to follow.”

“But now you’ll always have a family with you,” Scott put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and the two shared a sympathetic smile.

“There was always this story,” Heather added on, “of my name coming after my Mum’s favourite flower. She saw it during a trip to Loch Leven in Scotland- where she saw the swans stopping there during their immigration, and it’s one of the happiest memories in her life. She told that to Ares when he asked about my name, and ever since then, he liked the idea of nicknaming me after swans whenever he mentioned me. It was so magical and wonderful to me as a child, that I could never tell why she’s replaced so many boyfriends along the years instead of staying loyal to _Daddy_ ,” she pronounced the word with disgust. “I met him a little after I was forbidden of hanging out with you, and it took me a little too long to understand that, but eventually I found out that she has covered the truth with some sweet, stupid lie.”

Stiles understood where her Mother was coming from, but it was still frustrating to think about how his friend had had to stand abuse for such a long time because someone she had trusted more than anyone had tried to keep her happy by convincing her everything was okay and acceptable.

“Turns out he loves to visit his children in order to grow enough hate in them so they will feed him with their strives. There’s a whole online supporting group for us, maybe the only one uniting children of one Deity. Anyway, he thought I should aspire to be like you and connect to my inner aggression. Every time I was annoyed by something, even a little bit- there he was, laughing at me that yet again I do nothing but flapping my wings, showing myself to be like the myth of swans, with their so-called ability to kill someone. That’s why his constant threat toward his children is to make them into swans, which he really does sometimes. To think I was sure for such a long time that he said it with endearment, and I even romanticized becoming a swan instead of dying. And now that I disappointed him by being kidnapped by the what-you-call-it, it turns out I was Odette for him after all- just a version of her who failed to become as successful as Odile.”

Stiles had been so angry at Zeus’ treatment towards his family, that he could not imagine something worse than that. After getting to know a couple of others Deities, all with the same habit of seeing no further than the end of their nose- he could not consider the possibility any Deity bothering with visits to his children, not to mention _persistently_.

But after witnessing Ares’ personality in person, though, it made sense that if anyone would be different, it would be him- especially if it was for an abusive matter. Stiles hated the thoughts of not being with her through those dark times, where it could possibly lead her to take destructive matters.

She lightly punched his shoulder. “Come on, don’t pout on me now! Besides, seeing him struggling so much in a fight that he ran away with that ridiculous beam like a coward was the best birthday gift I could ever get, even for a price worse than getting cuts on my neck and arms and a bump on the back of my head.”

Stiles forced a smile- he was glad it ended in the best way possible, but it still remained a dumb mistake done by him. He was the one to lead the Darach to another familiar of his in the first place, after all.

The mention of her birthday, though, made him think of a pretty important point that kept popping out in his mind for too many times to keep pushing it aside.

“Speaking of… birthday presents,” he cleared his throat, his perplexity making him talk in a higher pitch tone than usual. “I get now the impression that you knew of our relation even while we, um…”

“I don’t really look at it that way,” Heather shrugged. “There’s a lot of magic involved in the whole thing, just as much as biological. I don’t even talk about Hera and Zeus being siblings- we both have countless so-called relatives throughout history, so the blood-relation thing has got to lose its meaning somewhere. Me and my Brother share a human mother -- and lucky him, his father is human too -- but you can’t say that from now on you’ll see yourself as my uncle, right?”

“Well, you got a point,” he laughed nervously, scratching his hair. “But, I, um- I’d still love to keep it that way and not progress, uh, you know, _more_.”

Nor did he deserve, but he kept that note to himself.

Heather shrugged again. “Like I said, I’m thankful enough for everything I did got from you tonight. I don’t have feelings, by the way, just to make it clear. And I didn’t invite you for that. Well, maybe not _just_ for that. But I don’t regret it, even if it brought me a little bit more action tonight than I’ve expected.”

Stiles groaned. “It’s my fault for coming, now of all times, but I _swear_ I’ll hit you if next time you’ll go on another Demigod who may be just as hunted as us.”

“Fuck that, I’ll never regret it because I trust you!” She protested firmly. “I’ve always had, even when Mum told me you’re different even among Zeus Soter’s children. I’m sorry to ever listen to her and stay away from you. I’ve believed in you, and I didn't need you to prove me just like you did now that you’re more in control than they think you are.” Her eyes started getting wet. “I deserve what I got for suddenly thinking about you after such a long time I’ve left you lonely all along without no one like you to talk to.”

Stiles bent down to her and gently caressed her hair. “First of all- please just don’t with that ‘Soter’ bullshit,” Stiles asked with a pained look, which released a laugh from her. “Secondly, you should not run and protect others when you have so many bad things happening inside your head, and I sure they did. You can’t be there for others when you’re not there for yourself. I’ve tried to go against that mentality many times, before and after I’ve started training, and trust me that even when it works, it doesn’t always worth it. You’re not weak, you’ll only be when you forget your human side and stop feeling anything that isn’t envy and revenge. And don’t think you were the only one who wasn’t allowed to be near me- with Scott it was for a shorter period than yours only because no one else agreed to keep an extra inhaler in his bag for him for emergencies.”

“Inhaler?” Heather frowned between Scott and Stiles. “But I saw him changing, I thought he was -- ”

“ -- A Werewolf? Yes. He has only been bitten only half a year ago. I’ll help you catch up with all of that later, but right now I say we’ll at least get you home and call your Mother.”

Just then, multiple sirens were heard getting closer.

“...Or have my Dad to be the first one to be filled with the details,” Stiles sighed.

-

“So, you’re wounded like that because you broke into your old nursery home, by nostalgia motives,” The Sheriff said in an attempt to summerise Stiles' testimony, and rubbed his eye.

“And just to be clear, it is because of the nostalgia of _our_ friendship. _Not_ because of that of our Mothers’, that absolutely not came to know each other in the first place for any special reason, _at all_.” Stiles raised his eyebrows in a suggestive expression.

His Father moved his gaze between the two and sighed in understanding. “ I’m glad you’re okay, but hopefully you didn’t leave any damage, and you’ll be forgiven considering what happened. As for the next time an attack like that happens,” he returned Stiles the same suggestive tone he had just used, “let’s just hope that we will be able to know about it in advance, so we can keep it far from a _non-neglected_ _neighbourhood_.”

Stiles felt hurt finding that his Father did not trust him to think about his surroundings.

“Yeah," he responded saracstically, "if only our reality’s heroes not only _had_ that logic in their minds already, from all the theses about Superman they’ve read and repeated to their parents in more than one occasion, but could also _fly_ like him.”

When his Father just nodded tiredly, Stiles suddenly realized that he actually let his current short temper to make him forget all about feeling sorry for his Father's trouble and almost snapping on him. He was not the one to clean after his own aftermath, in what was stretched into a night shift, thanks to his son. Ths idiot Darach decided to run away with its car, which at least meant that there was something to search for, but he was doubt if the event would leave a positive mark on his Father's career.

But as bad as he felt for letting his irritation by the fight and the burden to get the better of him with no one else but his Father- he knew the apology was not for there, as soon enough his Father had to get to the next street resident on his list.  

Later, when they were finally let out of the scene, and he dropped Heather back at her house- she insisted him to get out of the Jeep so she could give him a proper hug.

“I’m expecting a text as soon as you’re finished with your last Labour,” she said. “Kitschy as it may sound, you’re allowed feel a trash because of how unbelievable nerd you are sometimes, geeking out by stuff that is absolute nonsense. But always be proud of who you are under that.” She poked his chest playfully before she turned back to her house.

Stiles closed his eyes, letting the tears that escaped under his eyelids to dry.

He knew that moment that his Mother had not chosen Heather for being the daughter of her close friend; she had chosen her because, during what Stiles imagined as their secret girl-talks- she had left a piece of herself in her.

Of course, it only worked because Heather herself let it.

When he jumped back into the Jeep quietly, Scott sent him another one of his worrying looks. “Are you okay?”

Stiles ignored the question as he busied himself to move away from the driveway. “Don’t expect me in school for the next couple of days, or even weeks,” he told him instead. “And make sure you or anyone else get close to my house without calling me first, unless it’s an emergency. When I let anyone help me because it just puts _you_ in danger, and delay the end instead of covering for me. I don’t want to test just how worse it can get.”

How could he even think for a moment that he could finally keep his friends safe by staying close to him? The world was almost doomed to begin with thanks to how he was just so, so stupid.

“But you’ll give me a call the very moment it ends, right?” Scott ascertained. “I want to be the first one to hear it from you, or at least after your Father.”

That scenario felt like forever from where Stiles was at in that moment, that it felt ridiculous to talk about what would happen after.

He could still not locate the Darach’s spark, which was a problem of its own.

“Stiles, promise.”

“Okay, fine, yes,” Stiles sighed. “For now, let’s just make sure we get you home quickly enough, before running into another monster, god and/or combinations of both along the way.”

-

Stiles held in the need until he was in a good enough distance from Scott’s house to finally give in to the pain. He finally let his body to shake with it, as everything hurt- whether it was by the hits he got, being thrown all over the place or just out of the effort.

Morrell had already texted him to wait for her outside Gerard’s crossing home by 6 AM -- which he hoped that at least its innocence residents were safe from his cursed presence by Gerard being there and repel it -- and therefore he knew there was not much longer to wait, less than he had anticipated in fact, but he had no idea how he was going to stand the rest of it.

He only cut his pathetic whimpering off when his phone beeped with a notification; it was from Harris.

> _You got lucky today- school day is canceled for the student’s safety, so long the investigation still continues. But as for the rest of the week, you better come with a good explanation to your absence._

Stiles looked at the message in disbelief. It was one thing that he already knew what happened, but why that message all of a sudden? Was this his way to be considerate?

> _What do you mean? I’ll just go to my doctor and ask for a sick day._

Stiles hoped it would end with that, so he could continue living the fantasy that his Teacher only wanted to check on him in his own, weird way- but the more messages he received, the less he could believe in it.

> _There are possible witnesses from the party tonight. They will talk about it during class today, and I’ll ask them if they saw you there last night. It will look too unusual if you just disappear from school and I won’t be angry about it._

He felt too worn out to be angry, and yet reacted as he would if he felt better. 

> _You’re really not gonna cover me up?!_

Considering how longer it took Harris to reply with a shorter message, comparing to the previous one, Stiles knew he was expected to feel bad for thinking simple favours as that were not too much to ask from certain people.

Hopefully, it was that, and Mr. Harris did not love detention time with him too much to give up on them so easily.

> _How can I when you don’t even have a plan yet, idiot? I cannot lie for what I cannot predict to follow accordingly sensibly._

And people said Stiles was the worst.

> _And here I thought that you’re not as bad as you seem to be, but just someone who went through so much physical pain daily that it’s understandable why it’s hard to tolerate when others… well, do not live up to your ideals. But with believing in humanity enough that you put yourself at risk for us, I hoped it meant you at least had some morals!_

The followed message had been sent almost immediately after his, as though it was prepared in advance.

> _See you at detention_.

Stiles groaned and threw away his smartphone. How could even the privilege of not having an Eagle hunting him every morning not change Harris’ personality even a _little_?

He tried to forget about it and just let sleep take care of everything, but no matter how many hours he waited- he was not getting any close to the blackout, not while having to listen to the Earth's rotation.

As though it was not enough to play with his nerves, suddenly he felt another string magically connected to him began jerking.

He had just fought a Deity, so what the fuck? Was it really not enough to make others step back for a while?

Whatever was drawing him that time, it eventually led to the neglected area of the town.

It was near sunrise when he pulled his Jeep to a stop right next to the old building of _Beacon Hills National Bank_. He did not feel any better by getting there, even if it was not a place he did not want to come back to no matter what- but something about the hole inside, the one the Gigante, Antaeus, had fallen through, which led all the way to the bowels of the earth just _called_ him.

Getting inside, he almost instantly had sat down in order to be able to contain the powerful vibes that place gave him. He could feel the past, months-long presence of Werewolves here, along with that of the Gigante itself, with the former’s aura being even stronger than those of the Werewolves.

But something was wrong, and he did not get it until the ground was shaking even more violently than he felt it until now.

Even if it was the ground which called it, it _defiantly_ was not for a friendly reason.

The roar that came next was something that thankfully he felt through his natural sense, but it did little to relieve him as the force behind the great voice sounded unstoppable- just as it had previously been the last time he had heard it. But this time, he did not just simply recognize the being, but even knew the reason behind its anger, or rather his envy: it was furious at Stiles’ sudden connection to Gaea, its Mother.

If Stiles found out Deaton had the same abilities as a Titan, he was _so_ going to kill him.

And no one could blame him to think something too drastic, with the way the creature’s arrival made him feel. It was like a headache he tended to feel on heavily overcast days, only stronger; it felt like he was shoved out of a submarine at the very bottom of the ocean, with his lungs squeezed out of air as was being crushed by the underwater pressure.

Stiles knew straight away that this what it would be like if the Gigante would find its way to humans, but luckily, he could also sense his weakness thanks to those very powers.

As the enormous hand made its appearance on the floor, Stiles rushed to it and held onto the wrist -- feeling grateful for once for his long limbs, which made it possible for him to stretch his arms at least halfway around it -- then dragged the great body the rest of the way up; it was surprisingly easier than what he thought it would, and most probably it was just because he had to endure a weight _much_ heavier than that of even a literal giant.

Antaeus was seemingly too stunned at the act to make a move itself, and Stiles used that to get to its middle and pick it up from the side.

The Gigante went wild, but quieted down very quickly. As expected from sensing the ground’s connection to it, Stiles knew the Gigante’s great strength came from the Earth- or more correctly, from its Gaea herself. At any case, as long as it was in touch with the ground, it had an unending source of energy at its disposal.

Stiles gasped heavily under the Gigante’s weight, but the sounds of the grunting, along with the terrible stench, made it easy for him to return to the terror of the night where he was the closest he had ever been to lose Derek. That intense feeling did its own, and he felt the ribs at the side he was holding being cracked until they were broken completely. He bounced the body in his arms until he got to all of the other ribs, including those in the other side of the abdomen, and did the same there.

The Gigante was silenced down completely at that point, but Stiles released one hand from underneath him to blow into his back and damage as many inner organs as possible as a dead-checking act. Every punch he threw made such an impact that the dust and sand around him on the floor was scattered away, until there was an almost clean circle surrounding him.

At last, he threw the unmoving body -- hopefully this time for good -- back to the huge hole, as carefully as possible to not lose his balance by an accident. There was much more to lose than himself if he did, after all.

In the same way he predicted the Gigante’s arrival, he was aware of the three Betas that were waiting for him outside even before he started heading back to the exit.

He stared into the abyss below him, the only salvation he could have the feeling scratching at his chest from the inside- until he forced himself to limp his way outside.

Isaac was leaning shamelessly against his Jeep, hands in his pockets, while Erica and Boyd stood a little further away, with the latter -- who unsurprisingly had the biggest aura out of the three as the second-in-command Beta -- supporting his friend, or whatever they were to each other.

Only a couple of days had passed since he had last talked to them normally, but it felt like so many had changed- the sudden distance between them was like the one which had taken years to build.

What was for sure, it was no surprise to not see Derek standing there.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, with no other choice. “There are more Deities after me. It’s more dangerous to be around me right now than it was before.”

“Derek asked us to look after you while he’s away,” Isaac answered dryly, although he had very raw feelings being reflected through his eyes. “You know, so every time you sacrifice a new monster for your lord in hospital pyjamas, you won’t die without us being around, pretending to watch over your ass.”

That had hit him so strongly that he had to physically keep his balance steady. But even a pain he deserved did not matter now, considering the guy before him looked like he was just waiting for the right mood to get to Gerard.

“Isaac -- ”

“ -- I know, I know.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, we won’t go after him until you’re done, Derek has already made that talk with us. Not that we’re really worth to be saved just to wait longer with our revenge, when he sent someone to rescue Erica and Boyd just to toy with them all over again.”

It was good to hear the promise that Derek indeed planned to listen to him -- and that the pack was united enough to not break apart because of the discovery about him -- but then Stiles’ blood was running out of his face as he noticed the three staring at his relieved reaction. There was no point to excuse himself, though- they would not believe his intentions anyway.

Isaac only pulled one hand out of his pockets when he approached him -- Boyd growling approval of that, though it sounded to be out of concern rather than a threat -– and put it with a Werewolf level of force on his shoulder, looking at him dead in the eye.

“But just so you know, if Derek’s trust for you turns out as a mistake after all, when it’s all done- no protection magic over the city will protect you from us.”

His heart sunk.

If he had only been kept there from the beginning, subsided and hidden beneath his guts, where even Aphrodite could not have reached it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Why did Ares look familiar to Stiles? [I wonder so too :D](https://www.google.co.il/search?q=DANIEL+SHARMAN+IMMORTALS&rlz=1C1CHZL_enIL736IL736&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwieo4TbxKTbAhUkBcAKHRL8AwsQ_AUICigB&biw=1920&bih=949)
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/174314831236/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-14)


	15. Chapter 15

After getting take-outs from a diner outside the town, Stiles waited the rest of the time he had left until Morrell’s arrival in the parking lot of the crossing home. Ironically, as he watched the beginning of the new day, marked by a foggy sunrise, and hoped it was the end to the day that after the talk with Derek which did not seem to end. Everything just kept getting more and more wrong, and the mistaken calmness by the nice weather, after a very hot summer, was nothing worth to appreciate while recalling the situation that had brought upon him and had dragged everyone else because of the start of the said season.

No matter how in pain he was, he already knew that sleep was not an option for him as long as he was carrying the burden of watching over the balance. There was also not a lot of battery left in his phone to try to somehow distract himself, but he did not have the patience for attempting this anyway; he had to spend the time by staring dumbly while listening to the Earth’s turn instead. There was nothing better which he could do until then, with the guilt eating up his insides, emptying him completely.

When he had checked the phone once he had parked, he had found a message from his Father, which he still had yet to dare to open and read. No matter how it was phrased, Stiles would only be able to see the expression that had surely been on his Father’s face while reading the text Stiles had sent the previous night about being away for a little while, _hearing_ his sigh as he had typed back.

Stiles knew the Sheriff was busy more than ever because of the so-called terrorist attack that everyone seemed to think to happen, alternatively to the real event of his fight with Ares -- a fact which he could only barely get his head around -- so he knew to not expect countless phone calls from him for not replying.

But with the aftermath scene that Stiles had left after his recent battle, it should be futile for his Father to even make sure he was still alive and well. Stiles himself could not tell anymore, with his perspective and distinguishing ability being lost along the way.

He really did not want to repeat on his stupid mistake during the Labour with Artemis’ Hind, but honestly- he just had no idea what the hell to tell his Father to prepare himself for.

There was one more Labour left, and as it felt that even the simplest thing could overwhelm him for good at this point, he did not want to see what next was left in this entire world that could outdo the surprises in this one.

His phone eventually went off at 6 AM, and it was exactly then when the door of the car next to him was opened.

Stiles sighed as he rolled down his window. “You seriously just waited here this entire time.”

Morrell smiled at him; her aura was weak and almost transparent, its flames struggled to reach its original tremendous size with no success. “I wanted to make sure you get as much rest as possible while you can.”

Stiles gaped, waving his hands like a madman. “Beacon Hills not being quiet was the very reason you could not leave without handing off your power to someone, and you gave me extra time to _rest_?”

“Like you let himself take a day off when you went to your Demigod’s friend birthday, it was nice for me as well to have a free day without the Burden.”

It did not exactly calm Stiles’ nerves, but rather silenced his resentment as from this point it was mostly directed against himself.

He breathed deeply. “Touché. Fine, so where’re the Apples?”

She presented her hands, where a metal bracelet was on each.

“Make them touch, and the _kibisis_ with the Apples will appear.”

She took them off and gave them to Stiles. Even though they were matched perfectly to her hands, his bigger ones got through easily; Stiles was too worn out to appreciate the magic, though.

The Titan only took back one hand after that, but Stiles knew to not take her expecting look as a sign that he could just touch her and get rid of the great weight on him so quickly.

Stiles swallowed. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it, I’m totally going to take it back for you as a gratitude for what you did right after I’m done with -- ”

Morrell chuckled. “No need to lie, Stiles. I’m not going to obligate you to do anything, even after learning from the new look in your eyes that the fight with Ares had driven you to your very limit, and you absolutely capable of continuing to taking care of the Burden without being crushed under it.”

Even though it had happened only a few hours prior, considering it was Ares- Stiles was not surprised that she somehow knew of the incident even without her powers.

It could also be one of her Brothers who had told her the news; they probably have some kind of a chatroom just for gossiping on the entire creature-of-sparks-or-whatever community in Beacon Hills and storm up of possible solutions for them while sharing only part of the advice with the people involved in the trouble.

Nevertheless, it did not explain what kind of change in his eyes she was talking about.

“At some cases, there is no need to be able to see auras to know who and what someone is,” Morrell elaborated. “You are one of those cases, as there is no way you will get out from fights with a Deity the same person. The mark this left in you is too fresh to try and deny it.”

Stiles indeed had had to unlock something within him to be able to go all out on Ares, but was it really the same as the way he had known the one before him was a Deity even before he had introduced himself?

Fear could explain why Morrell was willing to not trick him to stay with the Burden for good, but Stiles was still too suspicious to believe this; not after he had been given this Labour in an account of her Brother ruining one for him with his kindness. The same way her real face had eventually been exposed, Titans were not to be trusted.

“So you’re just gonna take it back, just like that?” His eyes moved between hers as he examined her. “Is it some kind of a debt to your friend in there?”

She hummed, the same way she had always done whenever she had been about to state her interpretation during their consular meetings. “Right now, you’re at the same situation McCall has been at when he has just been turned. You don’t want to become immortal, as from the taste of divinity you have just experience you consider it as something painful that ruins your life, and you want none of that.” Stiles almost shuddered at the thought of Morrell following them for such a long time to know all of that. “But once you are exposed the advantages, in their absence -- ”

Before he knew it, her hand clenched onto his, and the world behind him felt like it was whirling around itself while doing a U-turn; he had to lean with his other hand into the dashboard to stay stable.

“ -- You will willingly come back to take that gift.”

The panic attacked hit him like a lightning, so violent that perhaps it should be more correctly considered as a seizure; he was shaking so hard that it was a miracle that he managed to find the handler and fall from the height of the Jeep right to the asphalt before vomiting his guts out, though while laying down and barely raising his head a little up.

“You know, if you went to the Hesperides in the shape you are at now, you could have withstood and overcome their spark on your own,” Morrell noted above him, the smile clear in her tone. “The change a day can make; it is unbelievable how lucky I was to meet you just at the last moment.”

Her voice steady as though the return of the weight, the one Stiles had felt deep in his bones just a moment ago, had no impact whatsoever on her; either that or she was a very well actress.

Another wave of nausea washed over him and he let it out through helpless whimpers, and she waited until he was done to go on.

“But as I went to a place you initially couldn’t go, there is a place I still don’t, with or without the Burden, and it is very likely this is where you are about to be headed to, from what I got to know Hera’s way of thinking.”

Stiles was frowning, though from exhaustion and feebleness rather than her words. Trying to figure out what she meant was beyond him in that state.

“Instead of this so-called friend of mine you talked about, there is another one I'd like you to send my regards to. Oh, how much you remind me of him with your blind rage. I cannot help it; poor lost sibling of mine.”

Closing the Jeep’s door and ducking, she bent forward until her breath was felt on his ear.

“Until you discover how to get there safely, and return here in exchange for my powers- say hi for Menoetius for me,” she whispered venomously.

With that she left – it was like she had predicted him falling out of his Jeep, and had known in advance to park her car far enough from his so she would not run over him -- leaving him trembling for a few minutes as his much weaker spark had to deal with the aftereffects of the Burden transition.

The world suddenly felt like a lie- like its numerous influences were hiding behind a mask that science had only begun to scratch.

But even stronger than that, the impotence of not being able to sense anything left him terrified: Antaeus could appear again and he would not know; one of the Werewolves would be left alone in a fight or be kidnapped by another bizarre type of pack, and he would have no clue.

There was no question: at this point, the Burden was something he desperately wanted to have, with all of its darkness. He would not need it, supposedly, if his town would be indeed protected like he had been promised, but he greatly doubted that would ever happen with every passing second, as though he was getting farther from that moment rather than getting closer.

He knew he should not have anything to worry about by using the help of a Titan, the same way he had had the help of Deities in other Labours, but the disappointment would most probably come because of another aspect. The claimed final Labour he had left could easily be just another sense of hope that Hera had planned to grow in him just to break it once more, and there he would have no other chances.

And if that was the real purpose of all of this- Stiles would not be surprised in the least.

But even when nothing seemed to be a good enough reason to get off of the ground and not just continue to lay there and sleep until it would be too late anyway to do anything about the situation, he lifted himself off the moment he was feeling good enough. There was no point in wasting precious time, with a new threat almost on an hourly basis, when he could hold on for another hour without sleep, which was defiantly enough for a talk with Gerard that he would not have had the patience for regardless.

As he began to walk, his legs felt heavy just by the overall shitty way he was feeling, but he was mostly annoyed by how lighter he had suddenly seemed to be, as he was walking without physically feeling the centre Earth pulling his body through the ground.

Inside, the secretary did not love the idea of Stiles arriving outside visiting hours, but after another one whispered something in her ear -- possibly about a big, fat act of _generosity –_ he was eventually allowed to continue to Gerard’s room.

Stiles would prefer to catch the old man snoring in deep sleep, or in any different position that could entertain him a little- but unfortunately, he found him wide awake, sitting in his wheelchair while facing the window, ready for his dramatic turn as always.

Smelling worse than a man my age, living in that kind of facility should

“This time I truly did not believe I would ever see you again after what Hera assigned you with,” Gerard admitted, “you need really good connections to get your hands on a treasure of the Deities, and I innocently though you’ve already ruined to yourself any possibility to have such.

unless you came to beg to change the Labour to a new, easier one. But not only you did not do that, you also thought of manipulating Titans to help you. Very well done. Of course, it doesn't seem very impressive anymore when it comes from a mortal who stood face to face with Ares himself.”

Stiles just rolled his eyes at his words. Not wanting to waste any more times on unimportant discourse, and had done exactly like Morrell had told him to do: he placed the bracelets on his hands right next to each other, then slowly pulled the hands to different side as a sack began to emerge between his hands, like a soap bubble. It seemed to contain a bright light, just as shiny as the sun, and Stiles wondered if it would feel hot to his touch.

No wonder it required such a special dark entity as Ms. Morrell.

Closing the gap so the bag disappeared, he took off the bracelets and held them out to Gerard, who was already facing him after his attention was captured by the sudden glow.

The man coughed black goo as he laughed at the act. “I’m an ally to Hera, as you know. I do not intend to keep her gift to myself, it would be as vicious as art theft, and I am not that cold-hearted to do that.”

“So what am I supposed to do with that?” Stiles frowned, confused.

“Return them back to the place they belong at, of course.”

Stiles’ primary shock was quickly replaced by anger. “You only said I need to bring them to _you_.”

“We’re getting back to our conversation from last time, Stiles. You have obtained the fruits not for the sake of obtaining them, but for a reason you have yet to prove in your previous ten Labours. Things on the paper are worthless if they do not complete their cause.”

Stiles thought about his farewell from the only one who he knew to be able to do that, and was able to avoid burst out crying in front of Gerard just by being too tired to do so. There was not much fluid left in his body after all that vomit he had left there, anyway.

He leaned against the wall, just for safety case that his body would not be able to stand a too high blood pressure. His hands kept going from rubbing his face to hugging his chest, too frustrated to know what to do with them.

“The verb _bring_ is not suggestive in any way, so it _is_ a new way of being fucked up! Why not being clear from the start and saying something else like, you know, _showing_ you the Apples of the Hesperides. I could get it when killing the Hydra was something absolute that could not include more people, but what the fuck is this bullshit? Is that some kind of a-hero-must-be-ready-for-any-change-of-plans test?”

Gerard’s dark smile was literally as liquidly black as it could be. “Hera did you a honourable favour by letting you use her husband’s precious wedding gift as a chance to redeem yourself, don’t you think? It is only polite to return it back to place after you have no use of it anymore.”

“I’d think of being polite if there was some sportsmanship in all of this, which is supposed to be a _mutual_ thing. You know very well I can’t go to the Hesperides.”

“Then I’ll make it clear for a change and tell you beforehand that it doesn’t have to be returned by you. Just like you find someone to carry them to you one way, you’ve proven yourself to quickly earn more capable friends along the way, just when you need.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re way worse than having to hold the whole weight of the Earth’s existence on my shoulders, you know that? Telling from experience.”

Gerard looked at him with fake pity. “Is that how you choose to welcome your final Labour?”

“Final _For now_ ,” Stiles fixed him with a sigh, and started putting the bracelets back on. “Are you sure you don't want to tell me ahead of time at what more secret test of heroism did I fail, which makes the next Labour be futile even before starting it?”

Gerard raised his eyebrows. “Why, is there something that I’m not aware of and you wish to tell me?”

After doing secret tests himself, Stiles came with the conclusion that there was not really a line to cross, and even if there was, it was nothing to worry about, especially if the deal was nothing more than a fixed game; a fraud.

And so, instead of censoring himself, Stiles pretended to give Gerard's question a thought. “Well, your family is doing much better without you, and Allison cannot be more ashamed to tell others that her Grandpa is going to spend the rest of his life being stuck in a little room, constantly emit black goo and breathing his own fart, because he actually had nothing better to do than go to war with against a bunch of teenagers from the high school he was a manager of. Oh, wait, you meant about the Labours? Then no, don’t worry. About that my heart is as clean as the bed you never think of sleep on for some weird reason.”

Gerard’s tissue did bad work at wiping off the constant amused smile as it cleaned his face again off of the goo, which pissed Stiles off, not that it was that hard to annoy him at that moment; even the unoccupied bed annoyed him, considering he had had maybe eight hours of sleep in the last three days.

“Oh, look at you. With the way you can’t help but bite, you’re more a Werewolf than a Demigod or even a human these days. If I didn’t know any better, I’d expect your Werewolf eyes to glow at me right now. Derek must be proud, wherever he ran away to.”

Stiles had not thought too much of the fact that Gerard _knew_ about the story with Derek and himself, which was the very reason he had advised Hera to mess with his own daughter like that- and so he was caught terribly unprepared when he was reminded about that from Gerard himself.

Irony _stank_.

But beside the toying tone of his word, Stiles actually was proud to be similar to Werewolves.

“Well, it’s great, isn’t it?” after turning them away in pain, Stiles was able to glance back at Gerard. “You know, I met a friend yesterday who claimed that we're not related, even though she's the daughter of Ares, but she was wrong; look what keeping breeding inside the family can make. Distorted mind like yours could not have been made any other way. Which reminds me, I thought the people who live and work here would be safe because of you, but you just might cause danger to them. So _please_ , just tell me the next Labour.”

Gerard sighed. “Oh, Mr. Stilinski. It is such a shame you have grown up in any department but this. But have it your way then.”

It took everything to Stiles just to keep standing at this point, even while leaning on the wall- he was trembling and blackness started covering his sight. But hearing about what he should expect next as soon as possible was what had drove him to stubbornly ignore his ridiculously weariness -- even if this time proved that there was no way to ever know what was really necessary to properly complete what he was assigned with anyway -- so he secretly pinched the inner of his arm while listening.

“For your very last Labour, -- which, may I remind you, you will never have another opportunity --- is to capture Cerberus, the guarding Hound of Hades.”

Hearing that, Stiles had to do what he had thought he would never do in the Gerard-contaminated room, and took a seat on the armchair.

After all the blood had escaped from his face, his head became even number than before, but he felt worse than weak; he was _unhelpful_.

There was just no way they were asking him to go to the world of the dead. It was a finale anyway, because he had no idea how he was supposed to get there without dying and finding someone else to bring the Hound to Gerard -- while, laughably, the whole point was to do this to protect the town so long he was alive -- but the worst thing to him was what kind of an ugly finale it was even if it was not that impossible.

What if he would have to look into his Mother’s eyes, who just may be stuck forever in the same state she had been at the day she had died? How could he tell himself that she was not crazy when she would scream at him once again that he was the one and only responsible for her dying so young?

And whichever way it would go- how could he just _leave her there_ , returning back to the world above with the wound of her loss being ripped right open? How could he look in his Father’s eyes ever again?

Then there was Derek’s family- he could not just _go_ there and disturb their afterlives as well. And what would happen to Derek when he heard about that, after returning to Beacon Hills for his pack?

Stiles wanted to give up more than he had ever felt like in his life. With his anxiety chewing him from within, he could not find the passion and motivation he had used to have for this anymore. Why fighting for their lives when they might feel like ending it themselves anyway because of him?

He physically was already in a zombie-like state, but this knowledge started to infected his mind as well.

“Coming to this room, you smelled worse than a man of my age who lives in this kind of a facility would, but oh, now you even look more wrinkled than the oldest one here- this is such a terrible sight,” Stiles heard Gerard telling him, as Stiles could not bring his head back up. “I thought you’d be excited to go on a trip to reunite with your loved ones, once dominating the guard to the realm of the ghosts. A little trophy after your hard work.”

What if doing that would ruin the dead’s habitation, and instead of resting in peace they would try to go back to their previous world? Then Stiles would be hated by both the livings _and_ the deads.

Perhaps it was paranoid to think that way, but he could not see how anything could be too bizarre to consider at this point.

“Come on, Stiles. You’re almost scaring me too while being so untypically quite like that. Is there _really_ anything about that mission that will be too much for you, after all the achievements you’ve earned for yourself? You’re the most unstoppable warrior in all of history; a little visit at Mummy’s new home has to mean nothing to you by now -- ”

Stiles charged into the wheelchair before he could think about it twice. It hit the wall with such might that it cracked, and the same destiny was about to happen to the wheelchair owner’s shirt, as Stiles was grabbing it so forcefully that it was about to be ripped.

There was a clear flash of fear in his eyes, but it was gone quickly. Only cruelty was left, and the more Stiles was staring at that gaze, the more he questioned Morrell’s astonishment earlier about the look in _his_ eyes.

You did not meet that kind of person every day, after all, who could make you comprehending the existence of the kind of a cold-heart which could bring multiple mutants beings to life just for the sake of using them as experience, leaving them with consciousness to suffer years and years trapped on small island which kept being more and more crowded; you could understand the ability of one man to insist on seeing the world in black and white, but mostly where he himself was in all of that, to the point where even the white part was only rarely worth to see as such, because sometimes even his own family members were nothing more than the family of Werewolves he so easily organized their death.

And it was not even because he was a Hunter, because leaving it out on the woods for a few years like that guy, Moll, was not relevant in the least.

If anything, inspecting Gerard’s eyes closely helped Stiles suddenly understand how he, himself, was so indifferent at times.

It was no normative human reaction; it was the blood of the Deities. They were never superhuman, but rather _inhuman_.

Gerard was gasping through gritted teeth at this point, which sounded just like growling, and was shaking with anger for Stiles’ insolence to touch him.

“Do it,” Gerard dared him; more and more goo dropped from his nostrils as his breath quickened. “Do it and put an end to your last chance of avenging her poor fate, the one she had to suffer because of your birth.”

The last time someone made a joke out of his Mother, he was avoided of murdering them only thanks to the presence of an _Alpha_ Werewolf. Close to be blind of rage as he had been that day, he just did not understand where he found the ability to let go of Gerard without leaving any damage on him.

Although, it probably had a lot to do with how much his hands were trembling at this point.

Gerard started to cough even more of the black fluid so violently that he did not have the time to look for his tissue, and it went all over his legs and hands.

“I bet you were the one to request Cerberus,” Stiles uttered his guess once Gerard was gaining control over the coughing attack. “You probably did that for the little chance that he will be able to bite you out of this. But we both know that Hera will not give a shit when another kind of canine beings are going to come for you, and they’re too strong to be stopped, like you’ve already once tried and failed. You’ll _beg_ for him to take you back home with him.”

And with that Stiles turned his back to Gerard, with the hope it truly was for the penultimate time- if not in his life, then at least for a great while.

-

Stiles became dizzier he was advancing down the hallway from Gerard’s room. It was a good thing he had closed the door behind him, so Gerard would not hear in case he would not make it to the exit before collapsing to the floor.

Through his blurry sight, he did not see where the support he was suddenly getting had come from, but did not object when he was led into one of the room, where he was laid down on the bed.

When he came to, he was entirely refreshed in a way he had not been ever since Zeus had healed him -- which felt to happen much more than only a few days ago -- and so he was not surprised to find none other than Athena staring at him, sitting on the armchair next to the bed like it was no less than her throne at Olympus.

He frowned, getting up to a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”

“Is it not obvious? You have suffered things beyond anything any human could ever experience, it was better for you to be treated by a divine power rather than a mortal doctor. I even let you sleep a little, even if it was not that necessary anymore, as from my experience knowing that comfort mortal-minded.”

He indeed did not feel anything of the fatigue he had had before blacking out -- Deus ex Machina hitting once more, only this time it was his daughter -- but it was still funny to wake up at a very conveniently retirement home’s empty room.

Also the fact that he was stared at by a Deity _the entire time_.

“Yeah, thanks and all that, but why not taking me to somewhere a little safer like, I don’t know, _the woods_?”

“Safer how? Here, I let you stay close to the eye of the storm. Huh, it seems like you need my strategic consulting in this war for justice of yours more than you think.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not here to sell yourself again.”

“I may not need to, with the help you will be required by me.”

She frowned again, until he followed her stare to the metal bracelets.

“You’ll agree to bring those back to the Hesperides if I agree to join you?” Stiles assumed, recalling her suggestion back from the first time they had talked.

“No, I shall never have to do anything as such,” the Deity denied the idea immediately. “I find neither honour nor benefit in uniting the name of a hero with mine as a part of a bargain rather than out of their will.”

“I don’t have such a good experience with gods to believe you, but I’ll let you try to invest in me just so I can get rid of these,” Stiles sighed as he threw her the bracelets.

“There is an additional reason for our meeting today,” Athena told him, “as your next Labour will be in the nethermost cosmos -- ”

“ -- _How so soon_?!” Stiles whined, feeling like losing it over the speed that knowledge of an event was spread within the Olympian world, but Athena ignored him.

“I am glad I can sense no innocent confidence in your heart to being able to leave once you make the _katabasis_ , and rightfully so. As with your current form of your soul, you have no hope to hale Cerberus -- ”

 _Hale. A Hound_.

Fuck, had he ever hated irony.

“ -- Without commit an act of purifying. An occasion where you give in to your temptation will not be exonerated by Hades.”

Now _that_ might have been the most impossible aspect out of everything; Stiles was almost literally happy that losing his grief was not part of the Labour, but being able to ignore his longing while going to a place like that was something that made him scared to hear Athena’s solution.

As for the fact that afterlife was a real thing, though, there was nothing for him to feel about it either way; even though he felt blankness like he was closer than ever to death, it felt like by that time Hades or Hermes or whoever would come after him, his soul would be too rotten and faded to even survive the journey out of his body to the Underworld.

“So how am I going to do that?” Stiles asked.

“You must go through the Rites of Eleusis, which prepare mortals for their inevitable end. Being a paid homage to Demeter, she will surely let you join in, albeit it is quite belated, as you are found favour by Hecate, the minister of her Daughter, and thus to be trusted.”

For once in a _very_ long time, it felt like Stiles was having some luck.

He recalled the story of Hecate -- the Deity who had been convinced by her companion, Gale, to help him to find Erica and Boyd -- assisting Demeter when she had searched for her kidnapped Daughter, Persephone, by lightning the dark for her with her torches, just like the flamed torches she had aided Isaac with.

All in all, even though he was not very excited about having to go this time through a ceremony bigger than burning a piece of bread on a kitchen stove, but he was still grateful for participating in something that at least was related with one of the relatively normal Deities.

“Okay, fine by me.” He shrugged. “So how long would it take? Do you think I’ll be able to be over with it by the weekend?”

“Being purifying and learning about the Eleusinian Mysteries has nothing to do with strength nor heroism. It takes two whole seasons for the change to take effect upon one’s heart, with one season in between where the thoughts permeate in preparation towards the second part.”

Stiles’ stress level was rising up to the Olympus. “So does it mean that by starting now, I’ll have to wait all the way to the end of the next spring?! I can’t wait so long- just look how many stuff I had to deal with only in the beginning of _this_ season!”

Athena shook her head, to calmly to Stiles’ irritation. “You misunderstood. The Rites’ schedule is fixed; their first part, the Lesser Mysteries, commence each year at the beginning of spring. You have missed them, of course. Nonetheless, this time will be an exception where you will untraditionally join the second part, the Greater Mysteries, where you shall prove yourself worthy by being able to be purifying under a short period. If not, only then a wait to the next spring will be required.”

Stiles rubbed his face. Even until December was a ridiculous delay, just as frustrating as only getting a new Labour once a week, but he knew that Athena was the best Olympian to listen to pieces of advice being served by her. There was no choice.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But where is it taking place?”

“A building you may know as _Eichen House_.”

-

The moment Stiles sunk into his Jeep’s seat, he _knew_ that the quiet minute he had finally had, between parting with Athena to getting out to the parking lot, would be interrupted in a matter of seconds; it took even less than that, and he let himself sigh before checking who was the responsible for his phone starting ringing.

The irritation did not last long, as expected, because when he saw Lydia’s name on the screen, his first reaction was naturally to panic; as much as he needed time to prepare himself mentally for the next few months -- hopefully already starting from that night -- he was planning to fight until his last breath anyway.

“Where are you?” He demanded into the phone the moment he answered the call.

“You mean where are _you_ ,” Lydia responded impatiently, and it sounded like she was walking normally, which already helped Stiles’ heart to find its regular pace back. “That idiot, Scott, knew to tell that you went back to your house after last night, but not if you actually _made_ it there. Why do you get involved in a something so big that was declared in the news as a fucking _terrorist attack_ just to go wander around in the rest corners on town that are still unruined, but not care to make sure your phone’s sound is on so I won’t have to drive all the way to your house for nothing?!”

“But what happened, why did you come to my house? Didn’t Scott tell you -- ”

“ -- Like I _said_ , Scott knew to tell me many things, but not what happened to you after fighting a Deity, apparently, and if you decided to be clever for once and go check yourself. So _where_ are you?”

“I…” He hesitated; she may already know about Gerard, but it would not make anything better, so half the truth had to be enough for now. “I got treated.”

“Stiles.”

“For real! By a goddess, too! A different one, obviously, but I was healed thoroughly. Anyway, I even got back the energy from the hours of sleep I skipped, so everything’s fine. Is that it? Are you sure nothing other happened when I was disconnected?”

“Well, there’s this talk you promised me yesterday.” Stiles could hear a door being closed on the other line, and Stiles recalled the previous day where he had been at her house and had asked him to stay for longer. “You really sound like you’re at least after your second cup of coffee, which is great, but I still think a cup of hot chocolate will do even more wonders to you. So what do you say?”

Stiles’ hand went through his hair. “Sorry, Lydia, but it’s really not a good idea to be near me right now, unless it’s an emergency. I tested it yesterday, when I was even more aware of my surroundings than I am right now, and- anyway, I don’t even have enough battery on my phone to explain everything, so I really gotta go.”

“Stiles,” Lydia stopped him from hanging up with her determined tone that did not accept no for an answer. “My house has already been jinxed when Prada bit me, remember? So if anything were to happen to me here again, I prefer it being when you’re _here_ instead of when I’m on my own with only my dog, who will _not_ get hurt because of this. So you get your ass here and you will not leave until I’m done with you, understood?”

Stiles groaned, but Lydia hanged up before he managed to say anything, as though answering for him.

He hated that logic, but statistically, she indeed was the one to be attacked more than everyone, and the only one to experience an attack where he was not anywhere near her. All he could hope that he would quickly manage to both calm her down and get rid of whatever trouble that would try to surprise them.

When he arrived once more at her house, though, he did find himself astonished as she turned to the stairs right after letting him in, leading him away from the living room.

He felt awkward entering her room, to the point where he preferred for a moment to stand in front of both Ares _and_ Hera and not in that situation, where he could not decide whether the sofa or the armchair was the most appropriate to sit on, or even how to _ask_.

What does one should do with his body in a room of someone like Lydia Martin?

Once she was done once-overing him, Lydia rolled her eyes with “Whatever,” at his awkwardness, and after turning on her wireless speaker with relaxing beats, she turned to the mirror in the other side of her room; she did not dress like she was about to heat out, but perhaps she just wanted to have something to mess with, like he did when talking about certain topics.

And even if she did plan to go out, well, at least she had enough self-awareness to first make sure she had not missed anything she could do about making others safe before returning to take care of the other priorities in her teenage life, which he could not say about all of his friends.

At last, Stiles settled in on the sofa, but the jumpiness did not reduce in the least. He folded his fingers on his knees, with one of his legs jumping rapidly.

“Why did Zeus meet you on that island?” She asked suddenly while starting to brush one side of her upper hair.

Stiles did not expect that- he thought she would ask the events from the previous night, and if she was still stuck about things that she had not entirely understood from his descriptions, then it would be about the not-really-anymore mythological creatures.

He took a deep breath. “At the end of the fight, I was too worn out to survive those two Alpha twins that popped out of nowhere, and he came to my rescue. Being killed by Werewolves turns out to be his red line, or something like that.”

“Did you two talk?”

They got somewhat closer during the previous year, but after all those months with no contact at all, it was still weird to him that the first moment they were on their own, she apparently was using the chance for a heart-to-heart.

And with the last time he had had an intimate conversion, on a cliff not so far from there...

“Um, yeah, a little. He’s not that far than how the legends portray him, so he didn’t really give me answers I couldn’t just assume myself.”

“Except for why Hera is so obsessed with you and Derek.” She put her brush down to finally begin styling her hair, with her gaze still fixed on her reflection in the mirror.

“W-what?” Stiles stuttered, his heart beating achingly fast in the blankness within his chest by the mention of the name.

“Well, you still haven’t found out what was it about you that made Hera willing to help Gerard to take his family down, or did you?” Lydia continued with her too easygoing of a tone considering the subject. Stiles knew she was taking a family’s death lightly, but he still found it annoyed that she was focusing on something beyond the tragedy.

“But I _did_ tell you. Hera found out that we would become close and be very important to each other’s lives, so she wanted to Gerard to do whatever it takes to make sure he would not live near me at all.”

“And why that, if you have other people in your life, like Scott? Unless he’s become less significant to you than before?”

Stiles quickly shook his head. “Oh no, I love New-Scott. It’s good to see him like that, all refreshed, full of motivation, preparing for getting new… chances.” He smiled as he came up with an idea. “We should help them, you know, to Allison and Scott. Maybe go for another round of a double date- I heard that went quite well last time. And while those two lovebirds slowly find their way to reconcile with each other, I could entertain you. Impress you with my charming jokes and hold your hand when it feels too heavy and stuff.”

Lydia huffed softly. “And I thought by being emotionally matured enough to deal with something like your disappointing biological parent, it must mean you’ve already caught up with yourself.”

Stiles frowned. “With _myself_?”

She closed her eyes as she sighed. Then a mysterious vision in her mind made her smile, and she turned around to finally face him, sitting on the bed.

“We’re both at different points in our life right now. It could’ve never worked before, and it won’t now for the same reason, even if we both grew up and changed.”

Stiles swallowed; his curiosity almost overcame how hurt it made him feel to be turned down.

“I’ve been through some stuff since the last time we met, yeah, but how do you already know it’s still not enough?”

“It’s not about you not being enough for me, it has always been a lie. But regardless, there is more than one reason to why I’ve always rejected you. Yes, I was in another headspace, and it was hard to let in anyone who did not play along,” she rolled her eyes, “while I acted as this character of the bitchy popular girl. And I want to take this opportunity to thank you, for never buying it.”

Stiles snorted, waving it off.

“But just as much as you could see through me, _I_ did through you. You’ve always been honest with me; you did mean every word of how you only cared about my well-being and nothing else besides that. But it was never what you thought it was, and now I can see more clearly than ever what behaviour you would have had if it was real.”

The love of his life refused to believe he was in love with her.

She was not the type of person to try softening the crash of his feels by talking him out of his crush, Stiles knew that much. But what could that all mean instead?

“I- I don’t know what to say,” he laughed nervously, gesticulating the more he spoke. “I mean, _of course_ I’m happy it’s not something that made Hera to demolish your life, but if you’re doing this because Jackson will be back next week -- ”

“ -- You’ve always admired me, like people do with a figure they root for, but nothing more.”

Stiles gaped, making nonsensical sounds for a moment out of astonishment; how did he get to a point where he had to defend the fact he was in love with her?

“Only there’s, like, _huge_ different? I’m a total fanboy of David Wright that I’ll freak out of my mind if I ever meet him, but I don’t want to get close to him as long as I can’t tell for sure if he’s as interesting as an individual person as he is cool on the field. And you’re right, everything I’ve ever said about what I think of you was all true. I meant it and I _still_ stand behind it.”

Lydia nodded with that same little smile of sincere appreciation. “You did,” she admitted again, her eyes inspecting his face like Werewolves’ ability to hear heartbeats was overrated. “You still do. But now, that I don’t make a fun of you anymore, do you still can’t wait to turn our relationship into something romantic?”

Stiles opened his mouth, but Lydia was quicker raised her palm before he managed to reply.

“ _Think_ before you answer.”

He pouted, and let out a long, irritated breath through his nose, yet forcibly kept his mouth closed as he leaned back into the sofa, tapping a finger on his thigh.

He clearly remembered the passion behind his words when he had been telling Scott, after the showdown against Gerard and Jackson as the Kanima, that he had not given up on his attempts to captivate Lydia enough to go out with him. He had wanted to spend time with her, being an arguing partner for her and being allowed to kiss her head when she said something truly brilliant, and he still did.

But when it came to be full on romantic- he had always assumed he just would roll with it when the moment would come, and until then he had taken parts in as many lotteries as he could to win all those prizes he saved for her birthday.

He loved every single moment of their development into an actual mutual communication, and at this point, he impossibly cared for her even more than before, with the memories of her pleasant side to lose. The moment at the lacrosse field, when she had cheered him all the way to a win, was one of the rare moments in his life where sheer happiness had overcome the intensity of all the anxieties that he carried around to wherever he went, consciously or not.

But having her talking back to him did not make him as excited as it had used to be- and even then, he had not fantasized about finally being able to be a part of her life.

His eyes roamed over her; any inch of her was still fantastic, and he still wanted to get to know her better and be around her just as much as he had always been. He had never stopped craving to get close enough to be exposed to all that she had to offer- but it was not necessarily romantically-wise, as long as she simply cared back.

He had never experienced an attraction to anyone else before to compare it to, but could that sure love he had for Lydia all that time simply being a will to befriend her?

Stiles rubbed his face. “It still doesn’t make sense.”

Lydia shrugged. “It’s easier to believe than the fact that you’ve fought monsters for ten weeks with an almost broken leg and a bat, and even a fake snow machine once. So why not?”

Stiles groaned. “Dude, I had a 10-year plan to get you!”

She blinked once. “Don't call me dude ever again.”

Stiles stared at her in question. “Why? It's cool, simple. Sweet even. Doesn't make me sound like a wannabe gangster, and keeps me with everyone in the same eye level. It’s just... _dude_ , you know. And above all, it's a unisex nickname. If you’re a feminist you should be approved of that.”

A reddish eyebrow was raised at him. “Oh really? So you're an active protester against stereotypical masculine-feminine traits and gender roles?”

Her look was a not good promising one.

"Um, not full-on active, but yeah, I guess.” Stiles was getting stressed by the minute. “I read about it a lot on Tumblr- ”

Her dominance was so definite that she cut him off by a simple humming, even before she got up and weirdly decided to approach her closet.

“Jackson said something with a similar point the other day,” she told him as she was searching through her wardrobe, “so for our six-month anniversary, I asked him for his credit card to buy something myself. When it arrived, I asked him to claim again the same thing, then again while wearing _this_.”

Then she pulled out a pink, polo, blouse-like dress. As someone who got dumbstruck every single time by Lydia’s marvellous shape, Stiles knew straight away that this formless garment was not the type of dress Lydia would choose for herself.

“Stop staring and take it.” She rolled her eyes impatiently.

Her command made him stare at her even harder.

“One thing you’re better than Jackson at, and you dare to procrastinate like that? You don’t have anything to worry about, you’re not as scrawny as you used to be, thanks for all the training and those battles, but not as large as Jackson. It’s going to fit in on you just perfect.” She looked at the dress as she was probably imagining Stiles in it.

The realization hit Stiles stunned. He gaped at her, then shifted his gaze between her and the dress a few times.

She just looked so serious about the whole thing that it was hard to take _her_ seriously.

Not wanting to make it seem like his behaviour arose from disgust toward the idea, Stiles forced his body to make the moves towards her, even though nothing in him accepted anything about that situation. He faked a smile while gently receiving the dress from her, trying to look impressed by the cloth.

“So, I’m still not sure what pushed you to take such drastic steps,” he tried to make her question herself in the softest way possible.

She folded her arms and shrugged. “I thought, being that you hang out with Drag Queens, or Maenads, however they refer to be called- you wouldn’t think of the concept of gender-bending as something _drastic_.”

He hurried to shake his head “I’m _not_ , not at all! Hippolyte and the rest all look stunning, and even with the most unordinary dresses they make it look like the best thing to wear, but as a cis man -- ”

“ -- My walls are in a pink-purple shade,” she cut him off with a bewildering enough statement that left him forgetting to get angry for being shut, “because it’s the best combination sets to drive me into a productive, calm yet cheerful mood, instead of because society brainwashed everyone during the 20th century that it is a feminine colour. I tend to choose shirts and dresses over long pants because they are more free and comfortable, and I’m sure plenty of cis men would even more eagerly agree. I still wait for the moment where I could find more fully or partly identified man who I could exchange nail polishes with and get to do each other’s make up, instead of being limited to only those who identify as women. What makes _you_ claim that you’re so receptive, when it's cool as long as it's anyone else but you?”

Once again, he had to look around him for answers, but found nothing worth to reply to that; when putting all those points so practically, there is nothing to argues against them. Lydia did not seem to really wait for him to say anything anyway.

“The bathroom is in the second door from the right,” she nudged her head towards the exit from the room instead.

“Wha- Hold on, what if your Mum appears -- ”

“ – Stiles, _go_.”

“No, but wait! Did you at least wash that since Jackson?”

“Try. It. _On_.”

Being left with no possibility to protest under the hard look that the tiresome girl had long mastered- Stiles groaned as he left the room.

It took him more time to get out of the shock while staring at himself in the mirror than for the process of wearing the dress. If it was not for the image in his head of Jackson’s face while going through the same thing, he might not have dared to get out of the bathroom.

Although, being honest with himself- he did not look worse than he looked wearing shorter clothes as t-shirts, considering he had never seen himself as a missed potential of a model anyway.

Lydia was lying on the bed, busy in whatever she was doing in her laptop, so she did not look affected by the length of the time that had passed until he finally returned to her room.

When she finally raised his eyes to him, the short period of time that it took her to observe him was almost as outstanding as the situation.

“How do you feel?” She asked finally.

“It’s not the most flattering thing I’ve ever worn, but,” he sighed as he admitted, “not the worst thing either. Maybe I could appreciate that more if I had a better fashion taste. Although, I don’t know if you feel the exact same thing when you wear pants, but it loses the potential of it being comfortable when it’s long as it is.”

“That’s a nice reflection to hear,” she smiled.

“Good. Great. So can I -- ”

“ -- Now’s the turn for this.” She patted at a pile of folded garments next to her, with sewing supplies on it.

“Oh god, what _now_?” He almost whined.

“You reacted better than Jackson did, but you’re still not quite there. We want to make a proper hero out of you in a better way than Hera suggests, after all; so we’ll go through another interesting experience.”

“How, by turning me your personal fashion designer?” Stiles half laughed half got shivers at the chance for this to be true.

“No, but I’ll teach you to do basic jobs like fixing tears and repairing wares in clothes.”

Stiles spread in arms in disbelief. Lydia was taking this lesson or whatever she was trying to do with him a step too far.

“What does it have to do with what I said?!”

“Nothing.”

“Then why should I agree to this?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Don’t you think it’s a better compromise than my completely justified car insurance claim?”

Oh, great. Then she _had_ been serious about it, after all.

Stiles would not be surprised if everything that had happened that night before was all her doing, just so she would have an excuse to use him.

He took a big breath, but it did not help enough to calm him down- probably due to his lack of patience to hold it in long enough so it would be practical.

“Okay!” he yelled in defeat, sitting with indignation back on the sofa.

-

After an hour, Stiles got used enough to the dress that he barely was aware of the sensation of wearing something he had never tried before. In fact, he entirely lost himself in sewing, as he was resolved and engrossed in succeeding in the project.

At one point, as Stiles was restitching a hole for the sixth time- he had to stop and put the piece of cloth down, suddenly realizing it was the first time in such a long time where he was that much immersed in an activity without anxiety creeping on him out of nowhere. Whenever he had hung out at Derek’s Loft, there had always been something to remind him every few minutes or so of the Labours still waiting ahead for him, or of the fact there was something wrong in laughing along those whom he had secretly betrayed.

But there, at Lydia’s room- it was a bubble free of any Demigod heroic shenanigans and supernatural drama in general. He became easily irritated by the tiniest things, constantly groaned and whined with every mistake- but even with Lydia picking on him in her own, special way, it was a friendly environment overall. He wondered if that was the real purpose of this, after she figured how much he _needed_ someone to treat him like that after so long of Derek walking on eggshells around him.

If only he could experience more of him being as unsparing as Lydia, like he had been when it had been only the two of them on the road, it could have been so great. Damn, he had never thought he would miss his stupid brooding face so much.

Missing _him_.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia shook him out of his thoughts, turning her attention from the reading she was doing about Banshees after he had told her about it.

“Nothing.” He smiled at her, and it was easier and a much lighter thing to do than it had been for a long time now. “I know it’s not really what they call a quality time, and you’re basically enslaving me here, frankly, but it’s still… good, in a way. So, thank you, even if it was not meant that way.”

She nodded, her smile all pleased. “Can you honestly say now that you would like anything more than that?”

Observing her thoroughly once again, it was hard to tell.

Because he loved Lydia Martin. Always had, would always do. It was a truth that could not be taken from him.

But was it really that different than the passion of love he had for Scott? Did he feel a need to do other things with her beyond what they were doing just because he found her attractive, and the most suitable partner for him that he could ever picture for himself?

He wanted a relationship which was close to that recreation he and Lydia had just had, definitely- but only close to it and not the exact same thing. During this time spending with her, closer than ever, he had not once thought about it before she had mentioned that. There was nothing that he had to hold in inside of him.

All the fantasies he had run in his mind all those years of how their time together would go were nothing close to reality, and seemed so vain and pointless in comparison that at this point he wanted nothing to do with them. That situation was proven to be way better than all of his past daydreams.

So maybe it was not hard to tell at all.

“No,” he confessed eventually.

Stiles had no idea how long he had been deep in thoughts for, but Lydia’s smile did not leave her face for a second- and with his reply, it only grew.

“Congratulation. Your ten years plan has finally come to the conclusion it always deserved.”

Stiles smiled, and looked down shyly while biting his lips.

It really felt like the girl of his dreams had finally approved him, and in the best way possible for the both of them.

“Well, we have done enough work for today. Now I have to make you change back as soon as possible before I’ll have to invite you to stay for lunch.”

Stiles snorted at her ruining the moment, but did as he was told.

When he went back to the toilet to get back to his clothes, he found that he did not miss them as much as he had thought he would. He really was an idiot for thinking that cis men could not seriously handle a dress or get used to it.

He heard Lydia already waiting downstairs when he returned to put the folded dress in her room, and suddenly it hit him that nothing bad had happened. Could it really mean that he indeed scared away the Darach for good?

“I hope you get it now,” Lydia said as soon as he went down the stairs.

Stiles sighed.  “Yes, I do. Especially as a representer of the good side of the Olympian world, which has plenty of non-cis or straight people, like Atlas who is possibly a genderqueer, I should know better than only being proud of being able to accept, while I should be proud only when I see no reason to be proud about it. It's okay to not completely be unaffected by prejudice, as long as I’m aware and working on it, because no matter how better you understand the absurdness of those social rules than many else, it doesn’t mean you don't have anything to work on anymore.”

She opened then closed her mouth. “While I am happy you’ve realized it too, I knew you did even without you spelling it out. What I did refer to was the name of a person which you can’t help but wince whenever it’s mentioned, yet with everything out on the table, you can’t seem to do the simple math.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Lydia shook her head as she was showing him the way out. “If the theory of two entities that were used to share one body until they were split by Zeus is true, then I hope that you took all the obliviousness for the sake of your other half,” she said before opening the door and looking at him expectedly, but she just made Stiles freeze in his place.

“…I don’t get anything you’re saying right now.”

“Sleep on it a little and you’ll get it, now _go_.” Lydia shoved him outside and slammed the door right after him, like his slow mind drove her even madder.

-

Sitting in his Jeep, the scent of blood filled Stiles’ nostrils, washing away the momentary freshness with a familiar ache. It was hard to tell if it was real, though, as getting used to returning to the Jeep with fresh blood on him -- sometimes his and sometimes of a monster he had just defeated – must have left an effect on his subconscious, which made him expect smelling it to the point of imagining it.

At least he was not a Werewolf to mind the scent of the dry strains; it must have been hard whenever he had to drive one of them in the Jeep with him, especially recently with Derek. Even when they used Derek’s car, the other smells that Stiles had brought with him probably had been as terrible, like that of his own sweat, or that time he had been covered by that weird liquid which attracted the Boar.

And the smoke from all those times he had used fire arrows.

Stiles covered his face in his palms and rubbed it in them. That mixture of all those feelings stung him so bad whenever he thought about him.

It must be Derek who Lydia had talked about before kicking him out, when he thought about it. But what could she mean by that? What was it that he should now understand about the way the memory of him would make him react, besides the obvious guilt?

He could not leave until he would get the answer, although he knew that he had more thinking to do before bursting into her house and demanding their conversation was not over.

It would be better if he waited for the realization to come on its own, but he still did not understand how that could even be the main topic she had wanted him to stay longer at her place for, and important enough to call him between Labours at that; after hearing his story, of all the things she could have been curious about, or be worried and want to prepare herself better for- and she had only discussed about him and Derek.

Ever since he had been told about the additional reason to the fire, Stiles had only thought of the effects of it rather than on the cause itself. The outcome of it was too disastrous to let himself think what it meant about the strength of the connection between him and Derek, at least beyond what the fight against Antaeus, the Gigante, and then against Deucalion, had both proved: that in battle they synchronized amazingly, even without training. With knowing the worth of their power as a fighting due, which obviously was rooted in the caring devotion they felt toward each other, there was no point to bother to find something deeper than that.

And anyway, with or without the potential, their association only attracted troubles for Derek’s pack, both for the one of his family and the current one. He had enough people to care for and be cared by; why pondering about what could possibly be so different with Stiles with such a risk? Stiles may have succeeded to change a lot of things in Derek’s life in a positive way, but it was only by being a voice of reason, there was nothing special about him that someone similar to him could not do.

So, okay, it _was_ weird that Aphrodite thought there was something more in it that the lack of it could bring Stiles suffer, when it was much easier to choose Scott or his Father instead- but why would Lydia be interested about it like it could still matter at that point? That piece of knowledge had nothing to contribute, unlike, for example, when they discussed the thing between Stiles and her, which made sure Stiles would not have futile distractions like believing she was the love that would wait for him in the end after everything; but there was nothing he could come up with as to why that would be a good time to try analyzing the relationship between Derek and him.

As for why Hera had not found it easier -- not that he wished for that -- to attack the one Stiles had already believed to have his heart belong to for a whole decade, before realizing it had been a lie, it really did not matter as long as it at least worked in Lydia’s favour.

But what if Lydia felt guilt, that it was Derek when everything indicated it had been supposed to be her, and if it could mean anything about her mysterious immunity to an Alpha Werewolf bite and the Kanima’s venom? Was that it?

But it could not be it, as she had continued with it even after Stiles had told her about her being a Banshee. She probably was just curious, but just like Stiles had once given up on finding out what he was- that was a mystery he really would never find the answer for, and this time it really did not matter, considering Stiles had never thought about having something beyond sexual with Derek.

He could only admit that yes, so far this mystery had been the most bizarre one out of anything else he had had in his life. Huh, it was funny, even, that a Deity as Hera, who could not possibly value friendship or family over romance, had seen the disturbing amount of obsession of Stiles with Lydia, starting already at the age of nine, and yet a year later decided still to go on Derek instead without questioning Aphrodite for a second.

…Unless this was the exact timing Hera had approached the Deity of love, and she had seen exactly what Lydia had.

_Yet with everything out on the table, you can’t seem to do the simple math._

…

Fuck.

-

It all started and ended with Derek.

There had never been two different battlefields, of Werewolves and anything related to the Olympus, like he had thought; there had never been two disputes for each separated, independent world- eventually, everything collided together and passed through one, yet-to-be-touched point.

Stiles had known that ever since he was told about their hearts supposedly completing each other, only not that it meant them being together by something like _that_.

He had no idea what was this about their relationship that could make it a desired one, considering how he had gotten Derek arrested without a shred of regret, right after destroying his sister’s grave, following by of all those times he had considered leaving him to die. He had let himself sympathize when it had meant Scott could be in danger, like when he was dying by the Wolfsbane bullet- but later, where he had been sure Derek had been actually stabbed to death by Peter, then the mysterious Alpha, he had seen no reason to feel anything at all.

Where could the romance bloom in all of that? How could have Aphrodite been determined that they could have something more than the occasional and not realistic at all visions Stiles had of them releasing fume after a heated argument?

Okay, yeah, so there was this whole real-life villain crush thing, where Stiles finally proved to the skeptical audience in his head that yes, it _was_ possible to be attracted while also having many reasons to be scared of someone, without being twisted for it. Get _that_ , everyone who he had ever dared to leave a comment on the internet saying that the idea of a character within the DC's universe who favourited the Joker as much as Batman at the same time was idiotic.

Not that Derek had been _that_ much of a villain, after all those times he had been forced to expose his vulnerary as a lone man against the world. Between moments of reasoning with Stiles through insolent threats like an asshole -- which Stiles had secretly began to liked being irritated by -- there had been instants where Stiles could not ignore the spark of sympathy inside of him, when Derek all of a sudden had looked so desperate, so _young_ : like when he had dumbly asked Derek again why he had needed the bullet, and Derek had replied that he would die without it, with no intimidating or angry expression in his eyes, just pure _pleading_ ; later, when he had fainted, Stiles had stared in shock at the guy lying there, and suddenly had not only seen him as someone they were mutually depended on due to a shared enemy, but as an exhausted, struggling man, who had so desperately wished to live despite people who thought he was a dark creature just by _being_.

So Stiles had given him the benefit of the doubt because the hell he would side with fuckers who wanted someone dead the same reason they wanted Scott. 

His sense of loyalty to Scott had made him later to forget about it, but at the pool Stiles had been challenged again to prove himself to that when he fought for someone than it meant he was _completely_ determined about it, as childish as it is to ignore his opinions, and he had made sure to return to Derek to pull him back to the surface.

Thinking about it, maybe by proving himself over and over again, he had also tried to make Derek prove _himself_ , and he indeed had: Derek had stayed confident of his pack, even when they had sucked or had been against him- always keeping being devoted and sworn to love them; but as proud as he was, he had been ready to put it aside in order to let Stiles being challenged once again.

Was it true? Had his heart waited all this time to finally be opened out to Derek, like it had just been a matter of time until the proximity would get to that extent?

It was confusing thinking about it that way, but at the same time, it was just calling stuff he had already known by a different name.

Because the same way Lydia had done during that Lacrosse game, Derek had known even more effectively how to irritated him to bring out the best of him. And although he had learned to do so, he had never taken advantage of it for personal amusement, and had always been thankful to Stiles like he had known it took Stiles to care first in order to be influenced like that by someone.

It had always depended on Stiles to let it begin, to let Derek in- but had he really done so? Could he really already feel things _romantically_ toward Derek, behind that heavy fog of guilt?

He thought of all those moments they had shared together, of arguing and huffing and groaning and rolling the eyes and raising eyebrows, and too many times of accidentally sharing smiles too honest to be just a smirk.

He thought of the moments with the pack, where he had been drawn to spend time with them instead of watching from the side- moments that Stiles had run in his head over and over every night until they had been the last things in his mind before he had fallen asleep.

He had thought of the moments the fluttery in his chest that turned into a knot it his stomach whenever Derek did that thing of looking down while trying and failing to hide his smile- feeling had been important in order to not lose himself in the craziness of the Labours, but he had not appreciated how important it was just by existing in his life.

Those moments had been precious, illuminated him between all the dark ones, and it all made sense suddenly, how he could have stood fighting in two battlefields at once for so long.

Until it had all gone to hell, like a _gods-fucking-damn_ Greek tragedy.

But what if Derek had been able to realize it, too? What if, as Stiles had been talking about their connection- Derek had understood right away that it was not platonic-wise?

Well, it should be obvious- were the story about matching hearts about anyone else, Stiles would have seen it that way too. As weird as it was to think that way about Derek and him that way, he still had been stupid to not understand it right away.

...But what would the dead family think of their short lives being suppressed by a random boy’s future love to their Derek?

He knocked the back of his head in the wall behind him, and it was only then when he noticed he was not in his Jeep anymore, outside Lydia’s house - but on his own bed, still wearing his All Starts on and too out of it to care.

The best he could do for the time being was sleeping until his Father returned home for that tough conversation they were going to have, and not thinking of how much he wanted to just ignore what everything meant as long as he had gotten to be in Derek’s arms and Derek being in his, protected from this problematic, complicated world.

Because neither of them deserved each other like that, but they both needed something like this.

-

“You are _not_ moving in there!” The Sheriff landed his clenched hand on the table.

It was the kind of fights with his Father that Stiles hated the most, but there was no helping it; Eichen House was not a light subject no matter how it was brought up.

He had just come back home for a short rest after the investigation of the mess Stiles had left behind, and with the FBI getting involved as well- there was no surprise the last thing he wanted to hear was his son asking him to sign him in into a mental facility.

“Dad,” Stiles begged, “why don’t you get it? I cannot risk anything like what happened during Heather’s birthday to happen again, or even that some smart enough of a jackass would make you be a candidate for dismissal again because of me!”

His Father sighed. “I don’t care of that, Stiles. It’s just that you don’t know what kind of guys are _in there_. I know some of them personally, and it doesn’t matter to me how many great fights you have in your resume against the supernatural- I’m not letting you be in a closed place with any of them, not even for a second.”

“That resume is exactly why you don’t have to worry about -- ”

“ -- And what about the money, huh? You think our stupid government cares about a teenager’s mental health? We need to save it for the moment you’ll actually need it.”

Stiles did not want to tell him how crazy he already felt; he had been on a rollercoaster of emotions that only ran faster and faster with each passing moment, and he had no idea how long he could be able to keep taking it anymore.

“Once I get out I’ll start working in two jobs -- ”

“ -- You will _not_. Barely anyone will agree to let you work for them after hearing you came out of there, which means your future in law enforcement will also become doubtful. You better find another excuse to keep yourself legally absent from school because this. Is. Not. Happening. End of discussion.”

Stiles sighed, clearly hearing the nerves of the lack of sleep slipping through the irritation of his Father’s tone.

What Stiles would do to be eighteen already, where he was being able to reverse his adoption and not be his problem anymore, as he continuously put him through those troublesome positions over and over at the worst of times.

The worst part was that Stiles was at that phase of anxiety where he barely felt anything, and so rather than being impatient, he was too frustrated to be tolerant toward his Father’s protectiveness.

“Dad, it’s either this -- ”

“ -- I said it was _end of discussion_ ,” he repeated himself angrily.

“People will _die_!” Stiles was the one to hit his fist on the table, raising his voice just enough so his Father would not be able to talk over him again. “Even if it was under control until now, it won’t continue to be this way, no matter if they bring the entire military all the way to Beacon Hills. Remember those snakes she sent on me? Hera is _far_ more ruthless than you think.”

This time the Sheriff was a little more hesitant before he replied; after being exposed through his own eyes the scene that was left after his recent battle- he probably knew by that point that there was no point to expect him to have a close surveillance on him.

“I understand, Stiles. I know all that you say is real. But until now, you’ve faced only what you were born to fight against. This is something much different, and as long as I can protect you from it -- ”

“ -- I want to go camping with you again,” Stiles heard himself saying suddenly.

It surprised both of them, but Stiles hurried to take advantage of stunning his Father to silence and continued.

“This was the first summer we didn’t go out, not even once, not even to the movies or to some restaurant. And I miss that, Dad. I miss _you_ so much. But if I know that this time you’ll at least know where I am and what will happen if I don’t do this - then I don’t care of meeting all those people you’ve caught and put there. Even if they find out I’m your son and be mean to me, they’ll get the Stilinski treatment like anyone else at school who dares to cry for getting a ticket for driving above the speed limit.”

His Father took a moment to study Stiles’ eyes before he released a laugh, and it was not entirely happily- but it was still enough for Stiles to know that he was on the right way to convince him to help him put him into the mental health facility.

“I miss you too, Stiles,” he sighed again. “That’s why I’m more terrified than ever to have something happening to you, when I had a part in leading this to happen. Promise that you’ll remember you owe me a camping- one where only real, made out of one hundred percent _meat_ burgers are allowed. Don’t let anyone do to you something that would prevent it to happen. Have you got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles snorted, which almost filled the blankness inside of him.

“And you better be honest about that. If I discover that all you really had to do was being imprisoned -- ”

“ -- That _might_ be part of the reason, yeah. But as a Sheriff, would you prefer that the next attack will be in your department, or in some forgotten place which most of the concerning rumours being told about are probably true?”

“Sometimes you’re too much _my son_ that I can’t stand myself anymore,” the Sheriff grunted affectionately, that made Stiles want nothing more than bury himself in his lap, only he could not let himself.

Just before the Sheriff had returned home, Stiles had had what he could not help but describe as the best nightmare he had ever had: trapped between the Alpha pack rushing into him from one side and all the monsters he had fought from the other, suddenly their war spirits had collided into a black tornado, which had weirdly pulled Stiles down, into the abyss; but then there had been something else, like a red string that had tied itself around his chest -- around his _heart_ \-- and had pulled him to not let him fall; a tight yet firm wire which hurt like hell, squeezing his heart almost to the point it had blown up from the amount of intensity that it could not contain, yet had felt so good, like he had been raised above the ground, soaring.

Feeling so confused and overwhelmed by so many things, that he could not let himself having this kind of proximity with anyone until his mind returned to the right place and he could trust his emotions again.

-

They did not talk the entire way there, not until they started filling the documents.

The place was creepy as hell -- perhaps _that_ was the real preparations he needed for the terrors that were waiting for him in the Underworld -- and when his Father mentioned they forgot to bring his loveable pillow, Stiles felt like crying at the idea he would not have anything to comfort himself with.

But hey, who needed comfort when one of the big reasons he was so peaceful about getting in there, despite the disturbing environment, was because he wanted to escape the thoughts that he was slowly starting to realize the reason they were so consoling to him?

So, he put on a brave face, and calmed his worried old man as he did not come there to sleep too much, anyway.

Ironically, dreams were forced on him anyway, as the weird drink he was given three times a day -- made of barley and weird spices -- caused him to have a lot of them.

It felt like someone was whispering in his ear the tales he was visualizing: he was watching at himself from below, as his body was floating in circles along with his Mother, an unclear background above them- lazily chasing each other for hours to no end; it was then replaced by Derek’s family -- while only a few faces were clear to him to identify, depending on who of the eleven people he had a chance to see in real life -- dancing around bonfire, again in a circle, while singing, _yelling_ with a stupendous joy.

The bottle was waiting for him right next to his bed every time he would wake up, and each time he would drink it with great thirst. He became addicted to it, the repeating tale about life cycle and reincarnation.

It continued like that for an unclear amount of time, until

Suddenly

Death

 

Had become

 

 

 _Good_.

 

Yeah. His Mother’s death was for the better. So was that of the Hales.

His Father got drunk by the wrong thing that entire time, and Derek…. Derek just did not _understand_.

They all should be happy for them, that they would find their rightful place at the next world, next life- whatever one would refer to it as.

He could not really utter the explanation for that, but knowing it as a fact was enough for now.

And so, he helped Dr. Bruski -- the head orderly, and the main priest of the cult -- in whatever tasks he asked him to do, as a part of the rites. He was not really aware what he was doing, he kept questioning himself that even during the act itself- but it was relieving and did not felt bad, so it was good.

Good just like Derek’s eyes, and the perfect curve of his face and his ass, his freaking _biceps_. Oh, those damn biceps. He should lick them all over.

He should kiss him, once he got out. Celebrate all that joy of their love and of their deads. Derek would be so grateful when he would be when Stiles would share with him this new view of life.

Wow, he could really see it now, could really see it; how did he not realize it before, that whatever they had had was great, but he wanted _more_?

Sometimes there was a pain in his chest, but Stiles took an advantage of it; when it dragged him down he used it for a better sleep, and the rest of the time he was so _light_ \- just like a pink, fluffy cloud.

And there seemed to not be any more sign of his ADHD anymore. Maybe he was cured.

Ah, Derek would be _so_ proud, seeing him now. How could Stiles had ever tried to look for anyone else?

They should circle together, just like Stiles and his Mother in that dream- forever and ever and ever and ever and

-

 _Blink_.

 

He was sitting in front of the Lion’s body, whose claw was already halfway through cutting the dead skin. He started shaking, _screaming_ -

With the next blink, it all faded to black again.

-

He got back his vision when his Jeep was suddenly spinning, and he struggled, doing whatever he could to take control of the vehicle. He crashed into a tree, and then everything around him disappeared once again.

-

He was blinking rapidly against the fog in the similar view of a swamp.

Could it be the Hydra’s previous habitation?

What made him go to the locations where his old Labours had taken place?

“Are you prepared?” Athena startled him as she appeared out of nowhere- or so it felt like, as he did not for how long he had not been sober; even if only relatively so, as he still found it a bit hard to stay stable on his feet, as though he was drunk as hell.

“Stiles?” The Deity made him jerk with unpreparedness once more.

“Uh, well, since I made all the way to here, I think I am,” he assumed, considering the situation, even though he secretly felt that no time at all had passed, unlike what he expected it to be until he would finally be able to get to his last Labour. “But, um,” he looked at his hand, which was holding a drink instead of his bat or at least his bag, and the weird furry cape he was wearing on top of his sweatpants. “Maybe I should get my weapons first?”

Athena shook her head dismissively. “Your presence here is problematic as it is. We have to hurry.”

“Okay, so all set then, as much as I can be. Let’s go.”

Stiles was glad that at least he got the Deity to lead him until he sobered up entirely from the effect of whatever he was on. He was not in control of what he was going through at that moment, but he had to count on Athena for the time being.

Athena stretched out a summoning hand, and a bridge appeared- which connected between their side of the land to the little island where the Hydra had used to lay on top of. There was no railing, which meant that Stiles had to crawl his way to the other side, as he did not trust himself to make it through without falling into the water.

Athena waited for him patiently, but he was mostly glad that he was not hearing her laughing at him, as he did not dare to look at her.

By the time he was struggling to find his way back to standing position, she already removed the huge rock that sat in the centre of the island, which revealed a simple hole as the entrance of a descending path.

Athena entered first, and Stiles followed right after her.

Stiles was satisfied with himself for the first few minutes, as he was walking steadily at the same pace as Athena -- even if there was a chance she was slower on purpose for his sake -- until his foot met a stone in the way, and he rolled past the Deity and the rest of the way down, which thankfully did not include stairs.

Finally arriving at the bottom, the bottle undamaged as he embraced it the entire way through, he let himself to sit some more and look at his surroundings more thoroughly before making any more attempts at walking.

And yes, also to make sure nobody had been a witness to that incident.

It was hard to explain how it felt, since his senses were dull; he could not tell if the shivers in his body were from a chill or because of his state, and if he was imagining the wailing or not. The only thing that was for sure was that he was not supposed to be there- there was something almost surreal about the scenery, as though he entered a painting.

Those drugs he was filled with clearly worked well to make sure he would constantly remember how outsider he was and that he should not make any trouble.

Countless lines of transparent bodies were positioned, side by side, in front of a great, bright grey river. Little boats wandered through the shore non-stop, filling the never reducing amount of waiting for transparent passengers- ghosts, or souls, or whatever they were considered as.

Before Stiles’ thought of getting on one of the boats himself, a figure -- opaque as him -- stopped to stand right in front him.

Looking up the greek tunic’s wearing body, he met a beardy, extremely ugly face -- how Stiles wished that the pointy, almost Chinese-like looking hat he was wearing would have covered them up -- gazing him sullenly.

“How _dare_ an alive mortal enter the Underworld?” He asked in a voice that only dead people could possibly find as pleasant.

The negative attitude towards him boiled something inside Stiles -- his control over his madness was too vague due to his intoxication -- but he did his best to swallow it down and reply back as calmly as possible.

“I don’t mean to disturb anyone’s rest,” Stiles promised as he started to rise back up his feet. “I don’t really want to go all the way to the dominion of Hades itself- just to the gates, where Cerberus is. I promise I’ll go right back -- ”

“ -- You have nothing to trade as a payment on you, nor you belong among these people.” The man gestured at the dead people around them. “You have no permission to pass through the Styx.”

Stiles’ voice came out shakily as he tried to stay in control while pushing himself off of the ground at the same time. “Please, it’s for a lot of people’s sake. You’re flooded already with so many dead people, you will have to deal with even more of them unnecessary early if I don’t get to Cerberus in time. You have to -- ”

“ -- You have nothing to trade as a payment on you, nor you belong among these people,” the other repeated stubbornly. “You have no permission to pass through the Styx.”

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed as he finally stood upright. “I’m telling you it’s -- ”

“ -- You have nothing to trade as a payment on you, nor you -- ”

Stiles grabbed the shorter man’s tunic with one arm, picking him up to meet his eyes.

“Let. Me. _Pass_ ,” the Demigod ordered through clenched teeth.

Knowing very well that Stiles was kind enough to not beat the living life out of him -- whether he was an immortal or not -- the bearded face nodded quickly with great fear in the eyes.

Snapping his fingers, Stiles’ eyes were drawn to a shiny boat which bypassed the entire line of boats, and pushed its way in. There was something unseen which blocked the dead’s way to go aboard it.

He eventually let go of the man, and carefully walked to the special boat.

Once both Athena and Stiles took a seat on it- it passed the other boats again and sailed forward.

“Charon observed you as though you were Ares himself,” Athena noted.

Stiles found it smarter to not say something back in his state. Something in the back of his mind told him he better get wasted even more instead, and took a couple of more sips from the beverage in his hand.

-

Stiles was humming to himself when he suddenly recognized the person who was screaming his lungs out in pain at his face: it was Danny Mahealani, who for some reason _really_ did not want to be pulled off of some kind of a throne he was sitting on.

He let go, and they both fell to the ground.

 _They_ as Stiles and most of Danny’s body, as part of the latter’s flesh was left on the throne.

The sight gave made Stiles start gagging, but unfortunately, there was nothing in him to get out to relieve the desire. If only he could drink more of the mysterious liquid and skip some more terrible moments.

Then he looked down at the injured boy in his arms; there was no way he could stop the bleeding, with a too long part of his thighs being torn and left attached on the throne Stiles apparently pulled him off from. There was not enough fabric on the two of them to try and cover the cuts.

“Shit, _Danny_ ,” Stiles helplessly hissed.

“Put… Me… Back…” Danny said between grunts.

Stiles did not procrastinate for a moment longer before carrying him and lay him close to the throne- he did not want to risk more body parts being glued to it.

As soon as Danny’s body touched it, the wounds were healing until his legs were whole again, although somehow thinner than before. He was still panting, still not over the pain.

“Fuck, I... _Fuck_.” Stiles did not even know how to _begin_ apologizing. He knew there was an importance to be under the drink’s influence, but what could have made him be that out of it in order to do something like _this_?

“It could’ve been better if you left me some time to try and sort it out,” Danny admitted between heavy breaths, “but I guess it was better than nobody coming to rescue me. Just, what the hell made you come to the Underworld so _high_?”

“I think you’re the one who should answer me first on how the hell did _you_ get yourself here.”

“I’ve already told you, idiot,” Danny’s eyes were closed, but the tone was an enough of a replacement for an eye roll.

Stiles gaped at him. “A few moments ago, you could tell me you came him for a research as a part of your gyromagnetic field project and I’d buy it. Do you honestly believe I’m such a psychopath that I’d pull you like that without being super high?” Stiles waited for a response, but Danny just kept his silence. “Ugh, Danny, come _on_ \-- ”

“ -- Can you two zip it and save it for later so you can start working on releasing _me_?” An exasperated voice next to then was heard.

Stiles suddenly noticed that there was another throne next to that of Danny, which was occupied as well by another guy. The bottom part of his body seemed to be stuck in the seat, as his seating position seemed forced and uncomfortable.

But it did not make Stiles feel sorry for him the least, as Danny was not someone who Stiles could ignore having his pain overlooked, even by someone who had been through the same as him.

“Hey, someone’s in trauma over here, alright? I’ll help you too, so you can wait a few more minutes for your turn,” Stiles retorted with an identical impatient tone.

“So let’s save the time of me being in trauma too, and just come here and _help me_!” The stuck one commended.

Stiles looked back at Danny with pity. “You tell me you had to get stuck here with _that_ for… How long?”

The tone of Danny’s huff was indifferent and restrained as ever, but from years of nudging him, it was clear for Stiles that the unfriendly environment had indeed not new to him. “You came from our world’s time, right? You’ll be able to tell better than me.”

“Well, I _did_ , but I wasn’t that much myself lately- mostly it was like what you’ve just witnessed.” Stiles turned to Athena, who stood behind him. “How long has passed since we last met?”

“A whole season,” she answered indifferently.

“ _What_?” Stiles gaped at her. “I have a months-long worth of lost memory?!”

“Still better than being here, wide awake the whole time,” Danny argued.

“Oh, yeah, so what’s your story again?” Stiles pointed at the both of the seemingly Underworld’s prisoners.

“I’ll gladly tell you once you _help me out of this thing_ ,” the unknown boy’s upper body tried to shake himself away, but his legs remained still.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You lose your legitimacy points the more you talk to me like this.”

“ _What the fuck_? What’s your problem, just come here and help me!”

“I’ll let Danny first tell me if _you’re_ a problem and then I’ll decide.” Stiles turned to look back at Danny expectantly.

“That’s Pyrus.” Danny slowly sat up, although he still leaned on the throne. “We met in Peru during my family trip there in Spring break.”

Stiles stared at him in terror. “But that was back in April! I’ve only attended one school day of this year, but last year- ”

Stiles thought about it hard, but could not find any memory of Danny of the last couple of months of the previous year. At that time, he had been mainly focused on his afterschool training with Coach Finstock, but how could have he not notice Danny’s absence during their shared classes? And how could have his family stayed quiet about it not bringing it up to the Sheriff, even if he had last been seen outside of Beacon Hills?

“These are the thrones of forgetfulness,” Athena explained. “Once you sit on one, you cannot get away, and the world above ceases of remembering you.”

“Shit.” Stiles cursed. He felt bad that he fell for that as well -- even if they were not that close and usually did not spend time together, unless it was something related for school -- as though it was normal for someone to graduate that early from high school. Then he saw Danny’s expression, and suddenly became self-aware of how his face was telling his thoughts. “B-But I’m sure that we’ve never forgotten you in our _hearts_ , right?”

Danny sighed. “Well, as long as I get to come back home it’s fine. Considering I’ve felt so stupidly adventurous after a stranger’s idea to sneak out of the hotel just try to seduce some girl he found to join us for an orgy, it could have ended in me actually ending up down here the 'normal' way and having my family only having me in their hearts forever.”

Stiles grimaced. “I can’t believe you _agreed_ to that, Danny. I expected more than you.”

“He helped me pranking my little Sister into believing she was lost and found by another family, so I owed him that, even though I have no interest in sharing someone with a girl. What he _didn’t_ think to tell me, though, was that this girl he was drooling after  had a freaking _Patron Deity_.”

“And he would have done the same if it was a boy worshipping Hades instead of a girl worshipping Persephone,” Pyrus claimed. “Even when I planned to kidnap her, I was inspired by your own cruelty with your Sister; remember that pranking her like that was _your_ idea.”

Danny tapped his face. “You’ll _never_ get tired of this, won’t you?”

While they both began what was probably their usual bantering, Stiles finally took a moment to look around him. They were on a top of a hill, which raised above the bay where the boats crossing the Styx river delivered their passengers to the other side. It was like Danny and Pyrus were a showcase for their sin, being punished to see the ones who were reviled from than pain in which they died from doing their way to Hades, while they had to stay and suffer each other for an entirety.

“ - A few minutes have passed since you’ve said I have to wait,” an irritated Pyrus suddenly informed Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes, looking at Danny with a mischievous smirk. “What do you say, should I?”

“You seriously _consider_ it?!” Pyrus resented.

“As much as I’d love to forget about him,” Danny sighed, “I prefer much more to not have to see his face ever again, especially not once I properly die.”

Pyrus stared at both of them with shock. Stiles seriously had never liked Danny more than that day.

He got up to him and held Pyrus’ hands, but as soon as he started pulling him- the earth beneath them started to shake, stopping only when Stiles released his grip.

“Please tell me I’m the only one hallucinating an earthquake in the freaking _Underworld_ ,” Stiles looked around him in panic.

“You tried to free the one who was truly meant to be punished by Hades,” Athena explained. “The other lad was an innocence partner, and thus is deserving to be extracted.”

A long silence was stretched between the three, before Pyrus snapped.

“Fuck that, you can’t just leave me here!”

“We can’t just be swallowed by the ground for something we know to fail in advanced!” Stiles tried to talk sense to him. “Look, I’m running into a lot of random Deities lately, so maybe I’ll cross ways with Hades himself and try to convince him. And if not, there are a lot of monsters that must be sent here too because of me- maybe one of them will be kind enough to come here and eat you out of your eternal misery.”

“You won’t _remember_ me once you’re out of here, you stupid fuck! And aren’t you on a quest to be a hero or something? Then take the risk you won’t make it and _release_ me!”

“What for?!” Danny came to stand right in front of Pyrus to confront him properly. “Didn’t you break enough hearts while showing your true nature? Are you really not sick of harassing people just for the sake of your own quest to the most exciting sex you can arrange?”

Stiles had never seen Danny so extrovertly pissed. Even whenever he had gotten him extremely annoyed, which he had never hesitated to let Stiles know it- it was not like _that_. Danny perhaps did not raise his voice that loudly, but the tone suggested just how hurt he was, even after half a year full of chances for Pyrus to show regret.

Putting all the jokes aside, Stiles just waited for an excuse to hit Pyrus in the face.

“But I did it for you _too_ , Danny,” his voice turned stupidly soft, like suddenly he got to a point where it was _worth_ faking a forgiveness. “I did it so we could _both_ get to greatest peak- ”

Stiles punched him hard enough that he got knocked out, and took another big gulp of his booze, just to make sure he would not be tempted to flip his throne upside down as well while being at it.

Danny and he both did not wait long before they turned and started walking away without looking back.

“So what is it that you drunk so much of what you started singing an OST from _Burnout 3_?” Danny suddenly asked, and seemed delighted to finally being able to begin a light chat.

“What?” Stiles blinked, thinking about it for a few moments. “Oh, it must have been _Orpheus_ , right? Good picking it up, you’re starting to restore my hope in you! Well, we’re in the Underworld, after all, so it suits. Anyway- ”

-

Back and forth, Stiles continued to come back to reality just to wash it away from him again by the beverage, even though he still did not entirely understand it.

Always attempting to go while spinning over himself, so he could keep up with all of those souls doing their own kind of rotate- did not help him to move forward after them. He kept tripping over himself and rolling around even more than usual.

But he had to. He had to be selfish and protect himself, to keep seeing the world around him as though it was a cycle, in which the dead they were following were on their way back to the upper world- in whatever form they would reincarnate as.

It was not like the blackouts he had used to have until recently anymore- the dreams he had used to have until recently became weaker the less was remaining inside the bottle, and he eventually found himself with only a few drops remaining in it.

At one point he was surprised enough to come to a stop when he noticed a snaked-hair monster -- who easily could have just been Medusa herself -- who was standing on all fours while being held by a leash by the same herdsman he had seen on the mutants’ island, together with the six-legged guarding dog.

“Persephone,” Athena acknowledged the air, as Stiles could not seeing anyone else there when he followed her look, beside the two lines of souls passing by both sides of them, into the gates ahead.

But why was _Medusa_ there? Should it not be Cerberus to be seen guarding the entrance to the final realm?

“What are you waiting for, Stiles?” Danny shook his shoulder. “You're sober again, right? So go ahead and finish him off so we can go back already.”

“Huh?” Stiles turned his gaze around, searching for the Hound. “But he’s not... Here?”  

“You were _staring_ at him for about a whole minute now! He’s right in front of you!”

“No, that’s Medusa,” Stiles laughed at the other’s ignorance. “Can’t you see the snakes coming out of her hair?”

“You mean the snake mane under the _three_ _canine_ _heads_?”

Stiles tried to focus his gaze on the monster, but it only blurred its image further, with its face becoming bigger and being twisted the more it moved.

For a second the being even started to look like the Alpha Twins, only they were joint by yet another brother to become a triple, and a second later the Medusa vision came back.

Something was definitely not right; it looked like his mind refused to be completely cleared.

“Stiles, think about it,” Danny tried. “Since when do you look right into Medusa’s eyes and not turn immediately into stone?”

That had a point, even though they were in the Underworld where its nature might have other rules than the living world’s science and magic.

But if it was indeed just an illusion, and Danny was to be trusted…

Stiles walked towards the unclear figure slowly, and with every blink, the view before him had changed to an even crazier sight. The appearance of the being kept evolving and growing, and beside all the snakes’ hisses, he suddenly heard the growling of a hound clearly.

The more he was trying to get out of his foggy state, the more the gate behind the beast called him. But why would it? Stiles and everyone dear to him were protected, they did not truly vanish once they died. He had seen countless demonstrations and proves to that in his own eyes.

...Unless they were all just like the fraud image his mind had just been showing him.

Like he was sensing danger by Stiles’ mere thoughts, Cerberus growled loudly and broke into a run towards him.

“The cape! Remember the cape!” Athena called behind him.

Stiles did not know what she meant by that, but he did not ponder much and settled for covering himself of the long piece cloth which was tied to him.

He felt hard, tapering things struggling to rip their way through, pressuring into him in the process- but they did not stand a chance against the gold-brownish fabric.

But could it be…?

Once Stiles recognized it as the pelt of Nemea the Lion, he instinctively shoved it off of him, which caused the Hound to be thrown away himself.

Stiles watched in terror as the beast made his way to his feet, whimpers being vocalized from all three of his heads, and enraged hisses come from the little snake heads covering the base of the necks, like instead of the extra fur coat dogs have in the chest. Stiles knew that the vulnerable image was misleading, but even if he could win this by hitting his head, he could not risk injuring him too much.

And yet, it was still a _living being_.

There was no way Stiles had to do that again- having to defeat a beast by straggling it, with no weapon in his hand to his aid. He had almost broken down completely last time, to the point where he might not be able to complete the rest of his Labours. Especially with the pelt on him as a reminder, it could not happen to him again; he did not even have Derek by his side that time -

Only that was the exact reason to why he should go for it anyway. Even if he lost himself trying, he _would not_ let Derek’s suffer be in vain, or that of anyone else which had been caused by him.

Clenching his fist in a self-reassurance, he looked at the beast once more.

“Come at me!” He shouted to Cerberus. “If the safety of the dead is important to you then be a little good boy and come at me!”

With a triple growl that almost shook the whole place apart, the Hound dashed to him.

As soon as he was close enough, Stiles spread the cape in front of him to protect himself once more from the laws lusting for him, and through the pelt sent his hands out so he could safely bring the Hound to a stop- and then spun to the side until he managed to jump on the back. He quickly embraced with his legs the front abdomen where the ribs were and surrounded the back part with his hands- pressuring both areas as he forced the beast to submission.

Cerberus could not do as little as move his heads from side to side against Stiles’ strength, but the Demigod’s heart stopped with what came next.

The Hound tale, as it appeared, was, in fact, another big serpent by itself- it rose well above the Hound’s body, staring right into Stiles’ eyes with a penetrating gaze; whether it could hypnotize or not, Stiles could not feel any more grateful for already being under the influence of something else.

But just as it drew itself back, readying itself for a strike- it collapsed, at the same time the rest of the body was turned sharply looser.

Stiles backed away at once, observing the beast. He seemed to be still breathing, and Stiles fell to his knees in relief, almost like he was the one to be squeezed out of the air.

“For sacrificing your fear for the sake of your friends, you are welcomed to lend my precious Hound,” he heard a gentle voice saying, and figured it was of Persephone. “Though I send you away with a plead to be done with all that you desire quickly, for I am not qualifying to guard the gates against forces mighty as much as the likes of my dear Cerberus.”

Stiles nodded his promise, still panting.

The huge Hound rose up himself, the triple, bowed down heads whining with the tail of a snake being stuck between the two back legs.

“He’s not afraid of me, is he?” Stiles asked with a painful expression. “‘Cause that’ll only make it harder.”

A soft whistle was sounded, and the heads unitedly stopped whining at once, as though nothing had happened, then jerked up with a focused gaze on him. The three sets of eyes looked neither particularly friendly nor hostile, but simply obedient.

“Well, he seemed better and all, but can I really _trust_ him?” Stiles asked the Deity, without letting his eyes wander away from the Hound for a moment.

“May the Styx swallow me whole if you could not.”

It looked like Stiles would have to rely on that statement, with too much time that had been passed to waste even another moment to confirm the words first before starting the journey back.

Stiles carefully stretched a hand to the central head, whose eyes followed the motion like they prepared themselves for a blow- only Stiles just patted the head gently, slowly turning it to caress.

The beast lolled all three tongues out excitedly by that, and Stiles could not help but fall for that. It had been too long since he had last petted a dog, and it was a something he needed as desperately as a therapy for all that he had been through.

“There, little buddy,” Stiles cooed. “Sorry for hurting you. I have friends I have to make sure you won’t meet too soon.”

The grumpy snake on his tail was being waved rapidly. Stiles sure hoped that it was the heads who had the final decision about attacks.

“Ride the Hound,” Athena guided Stiles, “he knows where to take you to. I will take care of the boy.”

Stiles looked at Danny. “Will you be okay?”

Danny looked down at his legs. “The way for sure won’t be easy, but I guess I can handle anything that isn’t a heated idiot right now.”

Stiles snorted, and jumped on Cerberus’ back once again, but this time was gentle as he grabbed into all the necks of the snakes that made the Hound’s mane.

With an unapproving huff, Cerberus stretched a bit, and once turning in the right direction- he started running.

-

After jumping over the Styx river, Cerberus did not turn to the same path which Stiles and Athena had arrived from, but ran through different tunnels and corridors of the Underworld, presumably using shortcuts.

The snakes turned out to be a good choice to hold on to, as riding was something Stiles was inexperienced with as it was- but the Hound’s form was not suitable at all for letting someone taking a hitch on. Stiles had to use all the experience he had achieved in mechanical rodeo bull, and wished for it to be over fast enough before repeating some of the greatest of his fails while attempting at that game.

He also hoped his Jeep’s keys would not fall somewhere on the way- unless he had already lost them during his blackouts. Not that he knew how he was going to get back to the swamp to get to his Jeep anyway.

After a while, it finally felt like the roads were ascending, until sunlight started to get through, and eventually, they broke out into the upper world.

Cerberus came to a sudden stop, lowering his head as he did not appear to be glad to be under the sun’s mercy, even if the forest they ended up in was shadowing away a great part of the light.

“Come on, Buddy, let’s get this over with quickly,” Stiles patted the Hound encouragingly, but his hand soon started to shiver from the chill air, and it dawned on him that it indeed was close to Winter now.

Winter; that meant he had missed his Mother death’s anniversary.

Instead, he went to the place where the non-physical part of her -- the last part of her that kept existing in some way, her _soul_ \-- dwelled at.

Fuck; he actually had been that close to his Mother.

All those What Ifs scenarios went through his mind, which must have been the danger that Cerberus’ senses had gotten signals of back there, and the reason he forced himself to keep drinking that weird boost, whose effect had luckily ceased only at this point.

In fact, his senses were woken up enough that he now felt the pain in the back of his head. Carefully touching it, he recognized the feeling of a clotted blood.

It was not from his fight with the Hound for sure, but it still felt recent enough.

All of a sudden, he got flashbacks from an accident he had been in with his Jeep. How could he be such an idiot that he drove under a freaking influence? What if someone got hurt, being sent straight to the Underworld themselves because of him?

Damn, hopefully he had not _tried_ that.

Cerberus’s chest fluttered underneath him as he was sniffing the air- which somehow drove him into starting digging into the ground.

“Hey, Careful!” Stiles yelled as he leaned into the space between his shoulder blade, holding the snakes tightly.

A growl shuddered under him.

“I’m not choking them on purpose, okay? But I have to do that so I won’t- ”

Stiles found himself thrown over by a sharp movement by the Hound, and the digging process was now speeding up so greatly that the beast’s entire body was under the ground within mere seconds.

“Hey, where are you going?!” Stiles called after him, not ready to lose what he had worked to achieve for so long to because of some dog-like instincts nonsense. “Wait for me!”

With no other choice, Stiles jumped into the great hole in the ground, lending right on the back.

Cerberus renew his running right away, until they broke into another underground tunnel, which was lighted by electricity and clearly was not one of the Underworld anymore.

Once they arrived at a dead end, where the path was being blocked by a huge door, which was unreachable as it was located right above an opening in the ground- the Hound accelerated his pace, and Stiles lowered his head in preparation to the collision.

As they crashed their way inside, Stiles rolled in the air, hitting the wall before finally falling to a stable ground.

Hearing the Cerberus’ grunts from the side opposite to him, he slowly opened his eyes.

There was not much that was visible, as the room itself had no source of light in it, apart from the one that came from the dislocated door they had gone through: the space did not seem to be very big, but with how much stiffed the wall he had just hit was, Stiles could assume that it was built as a shelter.

Then there was the huge, bronze _pithos_ jar standing alone in the empty space of the room, with its opening being connected to the ceiling. There was a square line engraved on the centre of it, and Stiles had a feeling he knew what was hiding in there.

He stood up and knocked on the Jar. “Gerard, it’s me.”

No answer came.

“Come on, Gerard, get out!”

Stiles waited a few more seconds before knocking on the metal again, harder this time.

“You know it’s not gonna stop me, so come on, get out!”

“There’s a chain at one of the corners of the room,” Stiles jumped at the sudden voice that came through a speaker. “Tie it with it.”

Stiles looked aside, where Cerberus whined while one of his heads looked at a bronze chain that came out of the wall.

“Don’t worry, Buddy, it’s just for a few minutes, I promise,” Stiles assured him as he walked over and surrounded over the three necks with the chain. As much of an asshole as the Hound had just been to him, Stiles’ heart still ached over the act he was forced to do.

As soon as he was done, the window on the jar was opened- exposing Gerard’s face behind too many bars. From the crazy expression in his eyes, it did not look like he cared about all the black goo that kept running from his nostrils and covered the lower half of his face.

Stiles wondered if he had used that ridiculous hideout, designed as a huge jar, to hide in every time he had refused to see Stiles in person.

“I promise to not laugh and ignore… _this_ ,” Stiles gestured on the jar as he was getting closer to the window, “if you admit I’ve done my job successfully and report to Hera that it’s done. Cerberus is right here, after I fought him _all by myself_ , and _without_ getting any kind of reward for it, so just let me cross the damn finish line.”

Seeing Gerard terrified to his bones was not nice sight, as much as Stiles would want it to be: acknowledging the lack of power he had in that situation, he finally looked much closer to a man his age, and for obvious reasons it did not make Stiles feel any pity for him; but those were the very same reason that made Stiles instinctively be on edge, because when a prideful, confident and ever-prepared person like Gerard had that kind of look on his face- that could only mean that there was something unusually wrong in that situation.

And although Gerard was so helpless that he was hiding in something as ridiculous as a freaking giant jar- being on the other side did not make Stiles feel powerful, but godawful; wicked; abominable…

An -

“Fill this with its venom,” Gerard shook him out of his thought when he suddenly handed him a vial through the crowded bars with the tips of his fingers, “and I’ll let you go.”

It was the first time since Artemis’ Hind that Gerard tried to earn personal gain from the Labours, and once again the beast had belonged to one of the Deities. Stiles could not understand why it was safer than asking for the Hydra’s venom, for example, as though he _wanted_ to get bad attention from the Olympus. You really could not tell what more plans Gerard kept up his sleeve.

But what if it was a test, a way to justify his failure?

“Do it!” Gerard demanded.

“No,” Stiles shook his head, and took a step away for good measure.

“ _What_?” Gerard almost spat some of the goo on him.

“You can do it yourself, you don’t need me for that. If you want to get yourself _and_ Hera in trouble with Hades, then that’s your problem. I don’t need more reasons for the Deities to hate me, or I’ll really never be able to leave Beacon Hills.”

“If I don’t report to Hera you’ve finished your last Labour, then you won’t get what you want too. Beacon Hills will stay in danger!”

“It will stay anyway as long as it’s me who willingly gives you a dangerous material for your free use. I bet the town won’t be protected from something I actively helped happening.”

“I don’t look for creating a weapon out of this, you idiot! Can’t you see I have a more urgent need?!”

Stiles stared as the fluid was clearly dripping from his face to the floor, as his stress made it being leaked even through his eyes and ears.

It was disgusting, although with time he got to a point where he was relieved to see only the side effect and not the source to the reaction, like the wound itself that had gotten Derek to throw up.

Stiles sighed as his chest ached; after getting cleansed so thoroughly for so long, thinking about him clearly again was too painful.

If that was Catharsis, then it was the _worst_.

But the man he was looking at in that moment was the one to start it, whether Stiles was to blame for continuing it or not; and so, he forced himself to smile.

“You’re the idiot for not realizing you’re the exact weapon I was talking about.”

Gerard started to cough so hard that he had to hold onto the bars, and the vial fell out of his hand. He sounded like he was almost choking on the flow of goo.

“Get it _now_ ,” He croaked.

“You’re the one choking on it. But I still want you to tell me why you think it’s gonna work with his venom.”

After some time of thoughts about it, Gerard finally answered.

“ _Aconitum Lycoctonum_ is the scientific name of Wolfsbane that was given by Hunters. It’s the toxic they chose to use for their ‘ _Acon_ ’- their _dart_ s. As effective as it was, they always knew it was just the best alternative for the ultimate weapon against Werewolves: the venom which is used by the snakes of the greatest canine of all, the one who developed his body especially against competition for dominance before joining its master to the Underworld.”

Why _of course_ Wolfsbane’s history had something to do with Hunters; good thing that showing Cerberus to Scott was nothing but an idea then.

“You control the quantity- but even half of a drop will be enough to add to water Wolfsbane with.”

It was risky to go against Gerard at that moment of all, but Stiles kept telling himself that he could not let the old man be the one controlling the situation, not anymore.

Time to play safe was over.

“Sorry,” he told him, “but I’ve already had one too many deals with you.”

He started punching the metal- breaking holes in it.

“Stiles, you know you shouldn’t do it right now, you’re smarter than this!” Gerard’s voice was too trained to match the look in his eyes, but Stiles would not believe even if there was confidence in both of them.

Stiles ignored him, putting even more strength into each blow so it would be broken faster.

“Fine, it’s done! You’re done! No more Labours! You’ve fulfilled your part successfully, Hera will cast a blessing over the town in your name! Now take the Hound and _leave_!”

Wow, what Stiles would do to document that moment.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Stiles ordered Gerard after ceasing his attack, and hurried to the tied beast.

As soon as Stiles got closer to him, Cerberus made triple barks of happiness.

“You better go straight home, huh, Bud?” Stiles told him as he worked through the tie. “I know there must be more than a few exciting changes since you’ve last been here, but you have to go help your owner. I bet they really miss you by now, too.”

Cerberus whined, shoving one of his wet noses -- hopefully _not_ by venom -- into the side of Stiles’ face, who laughed.

“I won’t have more monster treats send you anytime soon, but maybe in a few years, when I’ll go out of town to study.”

It was unbelievable to hear those words coming out of his mouth, but he would get back to it when the adrenaline would melt away from his system.

Cerberus ran to the exit as soon as he was freed, but did not leave before giving Stiles one last look.

Or three, if you prefer to count it like that.

Stiles walked back to Gerard, kicking the last pieces to open himself a way in- but there was no one around, and the light was running out as the head of the jar started to close.

Sighing, Stiles climbed the ladder that was attached to the ceiling, and once he got to the top, he shoved against the object which was blocking the way.

Finally getting out, he saw the armchair that he had always been asked to sit on being fallen on the floor.

All that time there was a secret hideout under _that_?

Stiles heard heavy steps from the corridor, following by Gerard’s voice crying for help, and decided to sneak out of through the window, into the darkness of the night outside.

-

After all that he had been through, Stiles was sure he would gain enough grace to climb down a tree with ease.

To put it mildly, that was not the case.

The pain was nothing comparing to much more violated experiences he had been through in the recent year, and yet the damage to his pride was enough to make him grumble anyway as he stood up.

Almost like the old, much more -- if his anxiety was to be ignored -- carefree days.

But… What was this moment considered?

Because that was it. He had actually done it.

Supposedly.

He had to stop his pace towards the parking lot -- where his Jeep did not even wait for him, he suddenly realized -- because that fact was not quite sinking in, or more correctly, not at all.

A second ago he was riding the gatekeeper of the Underworld, and yet his mind just refused to accept that much more simplistic reality of… _nothing._

There he was, all on his own, with not even a crowd of crickets to make a sound remotely close to cheering. Not that he felt like being cheered for, but at least it could have helped him process the situation.

 _That_ … That was _it_? For real?

Nothing about that felt like a grand finale that he had expected to at all, one that feel clear enough to convince his doubting mind that, yes, the idea of having an end of this routine he had lived by during the last months was, in fact, real, and it was not a reality he was destined to be stuck in forever.

Ugh, the pessimism just killed him; Gerard had said he would report to Hera -- as though she would not be watching such meaningful events herself -- but how could he _really_ know Hera would fulfil her part of her deal? There was any different in the world than what it had been like a few minutes prior, and as everything looked, smelled and sounded normal -- not even a change in the taste of the air -- what proof was there for Beacon Hills actually being patronized, beside living the rest of his life with a hand always in position to grab his bat just in case?

But that at least was the future- what was the next move in the very presence he was very currently living? All of his belongings were too far away, and could not even go back inside to ask for a phone call to someone to pick him up, as he had no idea if, after all those months hidden away in a mental facility, there was anyone left he was anticipated for.

But even so, it did not matter; as far as he knew, his mere presence was a great danger, and he could not check about the rest before making sure it was safe to approach anybody.

Was it even worth to approach anybody, with what it felt like he had turned to? He was not sure his human side was even alive anymore, with that blankness washing over him. He found himself waiting for the anxiety attack just to have any sort of sensation that would help him believe he had not turned into something that did not belong there anyway.

He knew all that he had been through was worth it for protecting everyone, but he forgot how to use the ability to be happy about it.

Then again, he did not even remember if happiness was what he was supposed to expect to feel; how could he have a victorious mood, when, again, he did not have a proper proof to have a real a reason for celebration? How the fuck was he supposed to believe in real peace of mind, after literally just getting back from hell?

He had been through so much, but the only thing that was really tiring him out of his fighting spirit to keep on was the instinct to stay alert for the troubles that waited for him in the next corner, which seemed like something he would never get rid of. It was like there was never a way out, even when everything was done, unlike what they show in the movies at those kinds of moments.

In no way he would not have done the same just for his sake, in case he had been the only one in danger in that situation. It did not worth the numbness, to only be able to remember he had used to have guilt and should surrender himself to Derek’s pack, let them do all they desired with him, once they realized there was no risk in it.

Only, with his Father in mind, he could not do it just yet. Stiles had no idea how he had been in the last months, but he definitely deserved to finally see his son not drugged.

And so, even though he was completely empty of any kind of motivation to do anything with himself, he held on to the memory of his loyalty and love for his Father to be able to get out of his swinging stance -- as though he was as possesed by some Demon as that girl from _Paranormal Activity_ \-- he slowly completed his way to the entrance to the building, so he could at least to the street and try to choose his route from there.

As he stepped on the sidewalk, though, a motorbike appeared out of nowhere, stopping right in front of him and almost driving over his feet.

Stiles was surprised, but not so startled. After so many battles with monsters, he may be expected to dodge the possible collision better, but he was so out of it at that moment that he barely minded get hurt, as long as he was snapped out of his extremely impassive state of mind.

That was why he barely spared a look at the biker and kept walking until a call was directed to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Stiles stopped, rolling his eyes at himself.

 _Of course_ it could not be just a human accident; how dumb had his numbness turned him to?

“Listen,” he turned to the biker. “I don’t care if you’re here in Hera’s name, or the Darach’s, or just happened to be around to join the kick-Stiles’-ass-while-we-still-can party, but just try anything and I’ll throw you over that place’s roof and leave you there under the sun to lay there with broken everything until you melt. _Into a human puddle_.”

A huff was heard from underneath the helmet. “Kid got some nerves. You defiantly earned it, but it still doesn’t mean I care, so you listen to _me_. I was _paid_ to do this job, and I’m not going to lose it by the likes of you.” The motorbike was turned toward the woods, and its rider made room on the seat. “Get on the bike. I’m taking you to the Olympus.”

Stiles blinked tiredly. “You’ll take me to _where_ with the bike? I’d believe it more easily if I had to slide down a rainbow or something, at least I know Iris is usually the messenger of the gods. Your boots don’t look very Hermes winged-like, either.”

“That's 'cause the boots ain't Greek, they're Italian. A bike being able to get your Jeep all the way here isn’t convincing enough for you?”

Stiles frowned at her, until the helmet was pointed to the parking lot.

Following the direction, he indeed spotted his beloved blue Jeep. Stiles knew that Athena could have sensed if they had been followed at the Hydra’s swamp, so it looked like he really was sent a ride from the Deities.

Either way, he once again found himself in a situation with no alternative option besides taking the risk there was something to be suspicious about, if he wished to truly finish his business with Hera at very long last.

“Fine, I’ll go with you,” Stiles told the mysterious biker. “But you don’t have any time limit, right? Because I have to take a call first.”

Another huff. “Make it quick.”

Stiles went to the Jeep -- and finally was able to feel something as a relief filled him the moment he fetched the keys from his pockets -- and searched for his phone.

He ignored the countless amount of calls that were listed on the screen, and dialled Scott.

“Stiles!” The voice on the other side answered with panic. “Where are you?”

Being able to feel again or not, Stiles was in no state to bare others’ strong emotion exposure as hysteria. He took a big breath before answering.

“Outside the crossing home. Now listen -- ”

“ -- Okay, good, I’ll be there under five minutes. Just... Stiles, wait, are you- You remember me, right? I’m your -- ”

“ -- I’m _not_ under influence anymore,” Stiles rubbed at his eyes, understanding from the other’s worried voice that Scott knew of his recent state and probably thought he had left Eichen House because of that. “Just wait and listen to me for a moment. I’ve just finished my last Labour, at least according to what Gerard claimed, but I still have to get an official confirmation, from Hera herself apparently. I- I wanted to go see my Father first, but -- ”

“ -- Stiles, it’s me.” Stiles suddenly heard Allison’s voice over the sound of a motorbike engine’s running. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? We’re on our way, and we’ll help you with whatever it is. You _know_ who we are, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Stiles was surprised. They had been together before they knew Stiles was back- had they simply been searching for him, or could it be that they had been hanging out together?

There was no time to ask them about it, though, especially as they both needed a really good reassurance that he was not hallucinating and had no voices in his head or whatever.

“Yes, I know I _know_ who you are, and I _know_ who you are,” Stiles assured her, forcing himself to remain patient.

“Good, so don’t do anything yet, just stay there and wait for us. Are you hurt?”

Stiles gently tapped the cut above his forehead. “No, I’m fine, really. But I meant it when I told Scott it’s dangerous to be near me right now until I’m confirmed righteous or whatever. You can’t come near me.”

“We won’t get close- we’ll stay on the other end of the street, and not for too long! Just, please, _please_ let us see you. We’re close, so just a moment, okay? We don’t have any Deputies with us, so don’t worry about that. Lydia comes with Jackson, so she’ll be protected too, and you can count on her he won’t do anything annoying. So it’s just them, Scott and me. We- We just have to see you’re fine, you’ve disappeared and gotten us worried. So please, _please_ stay there just for one more minute, just so we know where to live you stuff that you’ll need.”

Stiles rubbed his face. His heart pounded with fear for having them so close to the magnet for dangers that he was, but he knew he had to agree to that if he wanted them to believe he was sober and sane, as otherwise, they would not listen to him.

The thought that he treated his own death so carelessly at times while ignoring his surroundings, even if it was for a well-understood cause like revenge, was still an ugly thing to feel.

“Stiles?” Allison called him, concerned over his silence.

“Promise me you’ll all be inside Jackson’s car,” Stiles conditioned, “and keep it parked as away as you can be while still watching me. Don’t do anything unless I signal you to.”

“No problem. Scott, stop over there.”

Soon enough, Stiles could see Scott’s green motocross, and the infamous Porsche stopping right behind it.

Scott raised his hand, and Stiles waved back, then gestured to the due to get inside the car behind them.

He saw Allison exchanging words with Scott before handing him his phone back. Stiles had to snort at Jackson’s loud utterance of displeasure as they opened the door to enter the car.

They were all united for the same cause, of course, but Stiles still wanted to believe he was right by reading the environment between them as a laid-back, at least compared to the previous year where there had always been discomfort by having to share space together. If it indeed had been caused by getting together for his sake, it would be the greatest solace in the world for Stiles between all the guilt trips he had gone himself through.

“Oh, man, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Scott’s voice sounded awfully cautious, and put the call on speaker. “So what’s up? And what’s with the costume?”

Stiles looked down at himself, and noticed he still wore the Lion’s pelt as a cape.

“Um, it’s from that Labour where I- nevermind, I’ll tell you about that in another time. Anyway, I’ve finished the last Labour and now I’m going to be taken to a meeting with the gods.”

“You’ll have to fight _more of them_?”

“Uh, well, hopefully not? Ares came more because of Heather than to face me. But anyway, remember that the reason behind all those Labours was so none of them will be allowed to assault me anymore, so I just have to go and get something better than Gerard’s word for it.”

It was half the truth- the agreement only considered the area within borders of Beacon Hills, which meant that anywhere else he would be unprotected. Stiles knew Scott would not catch on that, though, and in that way, he could argue there were lower chances of being ambushed or tricked.

“So you have to go with that biker?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, but for that one you _really_ can’t follow me. I’m going to talk with the gods, and they’re not that tolerant as it is to Werewolves.”

“So how long do you think it will take?”

How could Scott ask him something like that? It was not like a business meeting, and he did not know if the hosts were welcoming at all. Athena and Zeus had made an impression that Stiles was more wanted there -- as in expected to stay _for good_ \-- but perhaps it may be the very reason for him to not come back.

Only just how was he supposed to tell Scott about that possibility? He did not have it in himself to part ways like that, nor to act like he was not saying goodbye forever.

They were worried about him so much; even while speaking with Allison, who was not very close to him, he could hear the love she had spoken to him with. He did not deserve any of that, but would lying be a disrespect for their concern, directed to the wrong guy or not?

No, it did not matter. He just was not able to hurt them.

“I don’t really know how time works there,” Stiles finally told him after a moment of hesitation. “I don’t really know what’s the time now, but I’ll try to ask them to get me back before next Sunday’s 8 AM.”

Stiles had no idea what day it was at that moment, but the four exchanged looks as though it meant a while before they would see him again. Then again, in such unclear situation, any period of time had to be too much.

“O-okay, but where do you want us to meet you?” Scott asked further.

Stiles was about to tell him that his house was probably the best place to expect him, if the one who would bring him back actually let him decide where he would be left at- but then he had another idea.

“Do you remember that part in the woods where they do birthday parties at? Let’s meet there and throw a party for the end to all the shit that I’ve made all of you go through. It’ll be neat, right? It’s been forever since we’ve last actually had a fun night with no disturbance. I’ll give you back for everything you’ll have to pay for -- ”

“ -- No, no, don’t worry about that!” Scott reassured him. “We will do it, but it will be from us for _you_ , to celebrate the end of _your_ suffering. But forget that for now, just focus on doing what you need to do so you can come back for that as soon as possible. You _will_ arrive there by time, and then you bet we’ll help you to clear your mind and forget about all of that so you can go right back to normal life.”

All that talk sounded like such a big joke for Stiles- even worse than what the concept of Deities being real had used to seem to him back when he could have had still denied it.

He forced himself to continue with that almost utopian-like image regardless, doing everything he could to keep Scott confident enough to let him go.

“Awesome!” He made himself sound as thrilled as he could. “So I’ll send you now everyone I want you to invite, because there are more people who deserve to celebrate this with. I mean, I know you have to want some alone time, but the best part is that we’ll have all the time in the world after that. I know my Dad will need to be close to me as much as he can, too, during the first few days at least. Speaking about my Dad- ” he sighed. “Well, I actually don’t even know what I want you to tell him. Just everything I’ve told you, and…”

No, there was no way he was going to be blackmailed to leave Earth forever without telling him goodbye, right? Stiles could not be able to leave the mortal world -- whether it was an eternity at the Olympus or being gone completely -- just like that, without getting one last hug, where he could leave from himself as much of his love for his Father as possible.

Just the thought of leaving him at all made tears prickle him behind the eyes.

“That’s okay,” he could hear Scott’s sad smile through the phone. “I’ll deliver him all that and everything else you would have to say.”

“Hurry,” the rider behind Stiles expedited him.

“Yeah, okay, so I’m sending you,” Stiles murmured before beginning to go over his contacts.

Of course, he had to scroll through a particular name; he did not know how he was going to utter that name in Scott's ears ever again, after Scott had seemed unpleased just by Stiles speaking in such a familiar manner about the other pack. Letting him know that there was something much deeper inside all that thing may disappoint him even further.

that he knew he would never dare to utter to Scott, but he knew he would stay restless unless he expressed that somehow.

And so, when he sent everyone he wanted and put the phone to his ear again- he asked Scott to remember to add Isaac to the list.

“Isaac, like, _Derek_ ’s Isaac?” Scott wandered.

“I’ve told you they helped me a lot, remember?” Stiles explained, “I just didn’t elaborate on _how much_ exactly. Even if they don’t come, it’s an honouring invitation. I’m aware of everything they have all done to you, none of them is even remotely right, but they’ve changed- enough to relieve that tension between the two packs. Even if it looks like we don’t need their help, we don’t really know how that blessing would hold on and how strong it is. We need allies as much as they need us.”

“So I can revive even _more_ mass murders for them?” Lydia resented.

“Oh, come on, you can’t compare them to _Peter_ \- who’s not included under the invitation, of course, if it wasn’t clear for some reason. They hate him as much as us. Anyway, before I go- how are you guys? Has anything happened since I was gone?”

“The Darach surely celebrated your absence,” Jackson said, an unsurprising accusing tone in his words. “It took her time to come back, but now it’s impossible to keep up with her sacrifices. But now someone decided to escape a madhouse all of a sudden, like we didn’t have enough on our- _Ow_ , fuck, your bags are the worst! I won’t be able to drive now!”

Stiles knew he had no choice, but it still was hard to hear about deaths happening by the supernatural while he was too drugged to help out.

And since the Darach was supposedly part of the Druids, and by that part of the Olympian world- it meant that he would have to hurry even more with meeting the Deities and make sure they would not be able to do anything further.

But the best thing was that Jackson had gotten a suitable treatment.

“And on _that_ lovely note -- I’m thanking you deeply, Lydia -- I’m off, hopefully to get rid of that Darach as well. See you at the party, and please watch over my Dad until then.”

He hung up before the mood would deteriorate again and it would be harder to do so.

As soon as he put the phone in his pocket and was about to turn around, he heard his name being called, and saw everyone – apart of Jackson, of course – out of the car, waving at him.

Stiles nodded with the worst fake smile to ever be attempted -- not that they could see it clearly anyway -- and sat behind the biker, who took of the helmet and offered it him, exposing feminine face.

“You’re really taking your phone.” Stiles was not sure whether she was asking or stating that fact clearly.

“The gods are powerful enough to control the nature around them- maybe they’ll have enough spark left to develop a signal, or even Wi-Fi, if I’m lucky.”

She shook her head as she flipped up the kickstand.

“Wait, wait, don’t start!” Stiles held into her so his helmet almost fell off of his grip. “Just give me a moment, I’ve just found out how to put it right. Just tell me in the meanwhile who are you.”

“Name’s Braeden, and that’s all you have to know. Now hurry up, because it’s starting to look like I’ll never have the time to use the money I receive for this.”

“Hopefully it isn’t brought to you by a Titan. In case you’re not aware, this is my friendly advice to you: those people are _never_ to be trusted.”

After he finally tied the helmet properly, and an awkward moment where Braeden fixed his hands so they would be put on the handholds on the belt she was wearing rather than on her hips- they slowly drove away from the parking lot.

Instead of turning to one of the lanes, though, she crossed the road into the pitch-black woods. Trees started to disappear around them as the speed increased, and even with the motorbike’s lights, suddenly there was nothing to be enlightened.

It was so dark that it felt like they were entering a tunnel, only with no light at its end- until they met a huge, flashing one that swallowed them all at once, and Stiles shrunk himself behind Braeden as he prepared for a crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/174631574321/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-15)


	16. Chapter 16

Once he stopped holding his breath, Stiles noticed that they kept going straight ahead without any kind of pain beginning, asides of that to his eyes by the sudden light.

Nevertheless, they started slowing down gradually, and by the time they came to a full stop, he was ready to open his eyes.

Stiles had imagined Olympus as an island in the middle of the sky; instead, he stood on a firm, glossy ground which seemed to extend all the way to the blurry horizon; the skies were as bright as a soft, morning sunrise, as though a gentler version of the sun covered the whole firmament. There was no wind nor heat, but the weather was pleasant anyway.

It truly looked like a scene from an inside of a dream.

In front of him was a very small town, with small houses -- seemingly of the minor Deities -- surrounding a lone hill, which consisted of short, intertwined roads- each ending with palaces that symbolized the different Olympians with the way the buildings were orientated with. At the very peak sat what was certainly the hall of council meetings, which had to be where they were heading to, as, of course, nothing could be within a short distance of a walk.

Braden was surprisingly patient as Stiles was taking all that view in, unlike her attitude during his conversation with his friends -- one that he would not so easily let to be their last, especially when he finally felt like it was right to refer to all of them collectively as _friends_ \-- and just waited quietly next to him.

“Olympus,” Braden noted once she noticed he went out of his dazed state.

“Olympus,” Stiles breathed in an agreement.

“It’s good that you’re not taking it lightly- I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a mortal here, if there was any. With all the drama queens that are waiting for you up there, you’ll need more than your Lion cape to survive.”

Stiles hesitantly moved his hand on the pelt, wondering if it was Athena who had encouraged him to do that, as it defiantly had to be her who had sowed the fur to be wearable.

He frowned at how easily he accepted going with that around, even though most of the time he had been under that mysterious drink’s influence.

“That’s refreshing to hear, actually,” he admitted, a bit in a murmur. “After all those times people got their impression about me either from my aura or the appearance of a spaz, scrawny, non-threatening kid I’ve used to have.”

“I’m not saying you don’t have it in you, but you still have a couple of things that need to be changed in order to come as someone who really has no need to in all those proving deeds to convince the Deities he is worthy of their time.”

“Stuff like what?” He asked, although he was not that sure he wanted to hear.

She arched her eyebrow and gave him a suggestive once-over before replying. “I think you know.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, together with more awkward facial movements as he tried to utter his guess. “Is- Is it about, uh. Like, are you hinting about- about my, um, virginity?”

He received a very graceful smile, contrary to his embarrassed reaction. “I was talking about the rest of your attire, but yeah, if you feel it takes out of your manliness then I guess that too. Now let’s go.”

“Wait, you mean you seriously didn’t- ” he started, but cut himself off with a groan as she just kept walking away with no intention to stop and listen to anything else that he wanted to say. He followed after her instead, with the cape made of none other than an invulnerable-skinned monster hovering over his sweats as he was walking.

They went back to mutual silence, and although it did not fit Stiles to not fill it- he was too busy to stare at everything around him with an astonishment to be able to say anything.

The buildings were what one would expect if the Greek/Hellenic Empire had never fallen. It was similar to modern models of federal buildings that were inspired by the ancient architecture, only much more sophisticated and aesthetic. There was still use of stones, especially of marble, but also of glass, metal and even simpler materials like plaster and concrete; all were utilized in a brilliant, less-is-more way: for as far as his architecture knowledge was concerned, only the cities of the Santorini island could more or less compete with that level. Moreover, as ancient as those structures were, they were as smooth and clean as though they were just built.

The streets, though, were completely empty; it looked like there was no one to really wander around in them, as the streets seemed to mainly be there in order to separate between the different palaces. He would not be surprised to also find that only of those who were the closest to the Olympians were residences here.

The main hall, a Greek-temple like structure, had a much bigger space to separate it from the other palaces, as well as stone steps rising its yard even higher.

Braden stopped right before a little fountain in front of the entrance.

“This is as far as I can go,” she informed him. “From this point, it’s up to you to cross the rest of the way.”

“Already used to it,” Stiles shrugged, mentally shaking the image of Derek that just _had_ to pop into his head. “Will you wait for me here when I’m finished?”

This time she was surprised enough to arch both eyebrows at him. “You seriously plan to return?”

“Well, it’s nice to come here as a trip, you know, but you can’t really expect me to stay. I’m sealing my business with the gods for good and I’m off.”

Even though she was bewildered by his preference, she did not seem to care enough to argue with him about it, or take a further interest in the subject. “As you wish, but let me give just one advice to you.” She got closer to him, lowering her tone. “ _Don’t_ refer to them with the term you’ve just used now.”

Stiles was confused. No one had ever made a face before whenever he said _gods_ , even not Zeus, although he was not sure if he had used the word when he had last talked to him.

But besides that, he could not even think of any reason to what could be wrong with this term; what was better in the word _Deities_?

Once again, Braden just walked past him without giving time for further questions, and he figured that he would have to find out the answer himself.

And yes, he knew it was a bit of a stupid move to taunt them like that in such a fragile situation, but they had to owe him a little, too, after taking care of so many monsters that had made Morrell’s job impossible without him, right?

The instinct to talk back was too strong anyway- if he was going down, at least it would not be as a wimp.

Well, that was it then.

He took a big breath and made the first steps towards the entrance, when all of a sudden, a hand rose from the water in the fountain and caught his.

Yelping in surprise, he lost his balance as more and more hands joined the first one and eventually pulled him into the water.

Once he noticed the hands had disappeared as soon as they had appeared, Stiles opened his eyes to see nothing but blankness; the water was clear around him and there was just enough light coming from the opening above to see that there was nothing at all there beside him. The bottom seemed to be much further away than what he expected- almost like he was entering a waterfall shaped to look like a fountain.

Only… why was he _naked_?

Swimming back to the top, while looking down and around him the entire time to prepare for anything that could come at him- he eventually found his way back to the surface, where a crowd was already waiting for him.

After not observing even one soul in all if the streets it had taken to get there, he had no idea why the hell he was all of a sudden surrounded by smiling and… _incredibly_ beautiful people, who he could not believe to be anything else but Nymphs.

“So, hey there.” Stiles rose his hands defensively. “Uh, nice to meet you?”

They were too hot for Stiles to comprehend it, and he could not believe he had to face that situation _without pants_.

...Or did he?

Suddenly being aware of a stiff weight being added to him, a floor that decided to emerge out of nowhere slowly rose him to stand above the water- exposing to the others, as well as to himself, that he had been magically worn with a shiny, steel Greek armour, with the pelt cape already sewed up to it.

The armour was built from a separate pieces of a muscle cuirass -- which made the impression he was much more muscular than he had actually gotten -- along with greaves, bracers and a skirt-like _Pteruges_ strips, all made out of what felt like steel, and were surprisingly much lighter that they appeared to be; underneath it all was a wool, sleeveless _chiton_ tunic, and Stiles could feel his boxers thankfully still being there, too; lastly, his All-Stars were replaced with sandals that admittedly felt better than any sport shoes he recalled ever wearing.

The lack of weapons in his hand was worrisome, but the smiles directed at him kept looking too friendly and positive to even think about worrying.

And speaking of being empty-handed -

“Shit!” He looked around while tapping all over himself out of habit, even though there was no point with the armour on him. “Oh fuck, don’t tell me the phone fell out of my pocket! Even if I was underwater so there’s no way it survived- ugh, why did I take it, I didn’t even remember to take photos, I’m so _dumb_ \- ”

Then his arms were pulled again without warning -- what a great surrounding awareness he had, huh -- and before he knew it, he was sat on the fountain edge, and in the strangest turn of events up until now, started to being taken care of, or perhaps, more correctly- _groomed_.

The Nymphs with a feminine body were stunning, in the purest way: their eyes beamed an intense wise which could make the most aggressive, manly men to become flabby with one, softest of all blink- they could literally bring down an entire army with this one tiny movement of their lashes; their natural hair, which little flowers and leaves were integrated in as seemingly a true part of it, was wild and untouched, yet somehow wonderfully settled, as though any single loose hair, even the unruly ones, was magically styled to be placed exactly like that; their skin, which came in variety of olived and fair colours, was flawless and as smooth as silk when they touched him, shiny under the eternal sub of the Olympus.

The masculine ones had a smile which was gentle and inviting at the same time, and despite their brooding aura they had known how to touch Stiles so all he wanted to crawl into their lap and let them cover his entire body. They all suspiciously had the same look: a tanned, well-built and a bit hairy body, with bright eyes in all kind of shades and dark hair. They were breathtakingly beautiful as well, easily being able to perfectly blend in a photograph of the most incredible landscapes in the world, and yet they were there- playing with his hair.

Stiles felt awkward, and found it harder than ever to shut his bubbling mouth. None seem to mind, though, as they all kept nodding and humming at his words, observing him with attentive, focused eyes as they were taking turns in caressing him all over with their tender touch and massaging him with delicate sighs.

Though, even when his body painfully reacted to it -- his head injury had been cured along with his vanished clothed, so he did not even have that pain to focus on instead -- and his breath becoming heavier and heavier, they thankfully did not get their lips close to him.

At times it seemed that they collectively tried to mesmerized him, as though they emitted obsessing steams- but even though his ADHD made him forget over and over again about the fact he was potentially being hypnotized, it did not work at him at all. As unimaginably great as that sensation was, he still knew very well that none of that was close to the warmness and fluttering in his chest whenever Derek had arched his eyebrows, had rolled his eyes or had huffed at him, because _Stiles’_ attention was more significant and worthy than that of anyone else’s. While the Nymphs simply let him be, Derek had constantly proved to always take Stiles seriously, and had concentrated on every vague, random word that had come out of Stiles’ mouth, like he always expected to find a surprising point in his words and thus they mattered just as much as the actual relevant ones, to which he had always waited with more patience than anyone else.

It did not take long before Stiles’ rambling was filled exclusively with the man occupying his thoughts; he was telling the Nymphs of the one who had never prevented him from being his dorky self as long as it was not dangerous; the hot person who would probably join this group at his death, as he was too good for a plain place as the Underworld where he could never fulfill his legendary potential; the man Stiles wanted to be a jester for- bringing that precious, rare smile to Derek's face forever that Stiles had had the fortune to witness at rare occasions, when he had succeeded to please him. Stiles was not a happy person, but he _got_ happy by making others happy, and the challenge Derek provided Stiles with in particular would feed him forever, and not just because of it not being simple.

Well, romantically or not, there was no arguing that Aphrodite had been absolutely right; or at least at least about him, as he could not imagine Derek thinking the same things about him.

The crowd made voices of protest as they left him alone at once, probably coming to the simple conclusion that their charm -- both literal and of their personality -- was not enough to capture him, whether by an ability to see beyond the fog of their hotness as the child of Zeus or because he was _that_ ridiculously into Derek.

And really, it was _Derek_ who deserved all that goodness anyway; just for never asking to go through all that suffer, and still fighting for the justice, the way he had seen it, he was countless time more suitable to the title of a hero than Stiles. No matter how much noise had been made around him, he would never achieve Derek’s league.

An arm was lolled around his shoulder line -- which were too long to do something like that -- and Stiles looked up to find Apollo sitting next to him, in a form almost as big as he had last seen him.

“What is the long face for?” The Deity asked him. “You have finally achieved your long rightful place to access the Olympus, and was blessed to have the Nymphs themselves finding their likes in you!”

Observing the Deity’s bright eyes once more, Stiles now knew what another pair he had once tried to compare them to; and although Apollo’s were much more jolly, Stiles still preferred the grumpy, narrowed a bit under dark eyebrows ones.

“Well,” Stiles sighed, “I’m sure it’ll be different if I join you and they’ll suddenly be afraid of the possibility of having another one to chase and traumatize them all over. Anyway,” he changed the subject lightly, “I think I’m a bit late already for an appointment I have with someone who’s constantly short-tempered with me as it is, so.”

Apollo laughed loudly. “As the paramount single man of the mortal world, you have to be celebrated first! Hera will be waiting when you are readied to stand before her as the representative of such.”

With the next blink, Stiles found himself in a great green yard, with a multicoloured garden that was so magnificent like it was taken right from the well-anticipated Skyrim sequel, which the publishers yet have the technology to make; if _that_ was how it was imagined to look like, then it was for a good reason: dark colours plants combined with brighter ones in a perfect flow, as did the match between cold shades with warmer ones, and stylized statues and pots representing Apollo’s greatest deeds. The peaceful, was magnificent.

Stiles was inclining until he was laid down on the side on a bench covered in cushions -- so comfortable that he wanted to have all of his naps from this point on with them -- which was placed under a grape-vined pergola. He had expected it to bet uncomfortable with the armour he was wearing, but everything seemed to be made be able to successfully support just that.

It was easy to figure it was Apollo’s palace, although Stiles had never expected that a divine owner of a place would ever stand in front of him with a lyre in his hands, like Stiles was an important enough of a guest to be played to.

Only Apollo, instead of moving his hand on the instrument’s strings- took Stiles’ palm and gently brushed his fingers with his own, like they could create a music on their own accord.

“Oh, a length that could strike me with their talent so sweetly, as only an arrow being shot by the bow of Eros could. Let us hear the melody that was taken away from the world the day you neglected your gift.”

Just like the first time he had been offered that, Stiles was getting flashbacks of the last time he had played a string instrument- a guitar, in his case.

“I’m flattered that you still think it’s a good idea,” he told Apollo without really being able to tear his eyes off of the lyre which was presented to him, “but I’ll have to decline it again. I think I didn’t show enough respect to the, uh, music world or whatever to deserve a second chance at this.”

“Lest a talent as you would be forgotten from the world, I, as the Deity of melody, declare you as forgiven.”

Stiles felt the firmed gaze on him, but still could not stop staring at the lyre, the sense of wrongness the situation not leaving him for a second.

Only he knew that he could not give another Deity a reason to join Hera’s side, so he sighed and took the offered lyre. Even though it was much lighter than a guitar, yet felt heavy in his hands.

“Thrilling as holding a bow for the first time, is it not? If only the ancestry of my offsprings, the Argents, could be inspired by you.”

Stiles raised his head at once, wide eyes lending on those of the Deity. “ _What_ ancestry?”

Apollo looked at him back with surprise. “Oh, were you never told by Gerard? Their prosperity as Hunters has a lot to do to locating different offsprings of mine from all around the world and join them with their family, even more than those of any other Deity.”

Stiles’ eyes would have grown bigger if they were not already as open as they could be. “Don’t tell me Gerard is…”

“He is partly my Grandchild and partly my Great-Grandchild, who married a daughter of mine. As his son’s wife had been maimed and could not bear children of her own, the daughter, who I believed you have mentioned during our first encounter, is -- ”

“ - No, no, that’s fine for now, thanks,” Stiles shook his head dismissively.

He had no intention anymore to hear more about Gerard’s disgusting preparations to rule the supernatural world. Hopefully, this information at least meant Allison is not connected to Gerard by blood, and yet received a divine ability out of that, which she would hopefully only use only for good from this point on.

Lying on a bench next to him -- both met at the corner of the platform --  Apollo created another lyre out of the thin air, and taught Stiles different tunes- some calm and some cheerful. After understanding more or less how to play it, he was asked Apollo to play some of the songs he had used to play to his Mother, which were described by the listener as the saddest felicity he had ever heard.

Stiles could only process that comment after nails pricked under his chin, though, which woke him up of his trance of the memories that shook his whole body.

Fortunately, he managed to move his head before the space between them was completely closed, but hurried to explain himself before the stunned Apollo would get the wrong idea- even if it was secretly true. “This is what made this whole thing happening to begin with- like Zeus’ time with my Mother. I don’t want to do something that can have a bad result on the human world, if there’s another possible way besides pregnancy.”

The nails were removed from under his chin, but Apollo -- who shrank himself to be more or less at Stiles’ height, apparently because he actually _readied_ himself to go all the way, what the fuck -- made a discontented huff.

“Heroes need to be tough and strong, so they can defeat evil with speed, grace and brilliance,” he stated. “I find it inadequate, entirely appalling that someone who is about to be titled as one had to drink _Kykeon_ so you would forget about your will to be comforted by the dead. No one shall comfort you better than me, not even your lover.”

He knew right away the Deity was talking about Derek, even if he did not deserve to be referred like that; nonetheless, Stiles was not going to let a snobbish Deity to speak on him with such a scornful tone.

“He’ll always be better than you, way before being anything close to that.”

In a flash of light, the lyres in their hands were replaced with bows, and Apollo walked away into what had suddenly been shaped into an archery arena.

It would have been hilarious in any other situation- how a furious Deity decided to object over their hurt pride by something ridiculous like that, just like in the most classical so-called myth, only Stiles _really_ did not have the time to deal with someone’s weird envy, _obsession_ towards him.

Stiles looked at the weapon in his hand and then back at Apollo. “Um, I don’t mind to settle this in whatever way you wish to, but I kinda have that thing I committed to first? You know, a meeting with Hera, queen of Olympus, nothing that may be sounded _too_ important to you really, but- ”

The next second was filled with too much for Stiles to believe it had not been stretched to pass in a different speed than a normal one: Apollo turned around at once and shot an arrow at his direction; Stiles ducked and rolled aside to dodge it, but Apollo’s divine instincts read Stiles and predicted which way he would turn to dodge to, and so the arrow, who went through the air curvedly, was still about to hit Stiles without him being able to move again in time; Stiles arranged his body so it would at least hit his shoulder instead of his head -- if it even mattered with the kind of arrows Apollo was using -- but then a hand caught the arrow while still in the air, right before him.

Stiles’ breath stuck in his throat as he raised his gaze to see Athena, who was glowering at the other Deity -- their _Brother_ , if to go by how Apollo had recognized them to be back when he had first met him -- as she straightened up.

“Forming fights within your partners in the Olympus already?” Athena’s startled Stiles back to breathing, as the taunting tone which was directed to him was nothing close to the intense look that she was piercing Apollo with. “And you were not even fully accepted.”

“Leave him to me,” Apollo demanded.

Her face stiffened even harder. “Leave it for the period where he would be truly free of any charge. You’ll have your time with him.”

-

Stiles was then teleported into the interior of a building, which had no walls; at least that what one would assume from the first look, as they were effectively filled with shelves of scrolls, so much that it was shocking how the stone frame around it was not cracked. The number of papers was inconceivable with how tall the room was, and it seemed to be just a _small_ part of the building, with all the corridors going out of the room looking like they continued without an end to them, and were just as overcrowded with manuscripts.

“It’s like a modern copy of the Library of Alexandria,” Stiles murmured to himself, breathless with the design of the place not matching the ancient period in which scrolls were still used.

“Better way to storage documents than the modern digital one, is it not?” Athena noted from behind him.

The smell of paper, which reached all the way into Stiles’ lungs, did _things_ to his geeky mind; it was almost as good as fresh air of a forest assembled with actual wood, though he had a feeling no tree was cut in order to fill the library.

“Who needs computers when you’ve got all of _this_ ,” Stiles breathed, still overwhelmed by the amount of knowledge that was literally hidden in every corner.

The Deity released a soft, pleased sigh. “A great warrior whose instinct draw him to the training provided by written words rather than in the field- it is times like this where the lack of direct blood connection between you and me is beyond my grasp.”

Stiles was glad for the comment, as it helped him to tear himself off of his daze. He could not believe he had forgotten for a few moments where he was: the kingdom of the most self-centred beings who had ever been created, who kept picking a trait of him which fitted to them the most and depicted it as his primary one, thus convincing themselves he would want to join them.

When he turned to face Athena again, he was not surprised to find her standing with hands behind her back and chest puffed with pride, which Stiles did not feel comfortable to see.

He should remember that feeling the next time Scott would be ungrateful of his skills yet again; even if being able to go through it again was not what he wanted to be one of his biggest drives to avoid distraction that would delay getting his normal life back, but it still was something which he should do his best to experience again just like with funnier situations from his normal life.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Why are you all trying so hard to integrate me with your lives before I was even officially declared a hero? Hera can still find an excuse to delay it like she did after my original ten Labours.”

“The legend which still builds itself around you indeed causes a reaction of attraction to your reputation by us all. You can tell that by the Nymphs, shy and well-courted beings, who would prefer to share you with Apollo so long they could still have you, if it was not for your clear devotion to your lover.”

“He’s _not_ my lover!” Stiles groaned, desperate to get the point through. “But anyway, what should I do so everyone will stop, well, _courting_ after the credit to be associated with me?”

Athena stared at him in bewilderment. “Why would you ask so?”

Stiles rubbed his face. “I- Of course I think it’s the most awesome thing ever and all, to be taken care by the Nymphs, having music lessons by the god of music itself, and then… Well, just fucking all of _this_.” He gestured at the library around them. “But I’ve put my life on the line all those months ago just so I can get to this very point, and for nothing potential that could wait for me beyond, you know? I can’t back down from my promise to my friends and my Dad, to give them a safe Beacon Hills and return myself safe and sound and as human as I’ve been before all that, even if it means to get right back to the bottom where I’m seen as a complete loser.”

Stiles sighed, and took a pause to try and picture the Deity as the incarnation of despair itself, so he could use his own pride in the objects of his purpose.

“So please- I really, really do appreciate everything, and I’ll worship you as much as you’d like in return for everything when I’m back on Earth, but your help will be worth nothing if I can’t first get this talk over with.”

Athena, as the Deity of wisdom, did not really need to observe him for as long as she did to realize there was no hint for even a pinch for a hesitation which he was trying to hide- and yet she was doing so anyway, apparently that much stunned by his values.

“How come are you able to think of a world of matter, with so many treats to the soul around you?”

Stiles quirked a little smile. “Well, you said it yourself- this is where there’s everything that really matters.”

It was a dramatic thing to say, but something about being so close to immortal beings just made an environment where he could not help but react like this; and just in case it really was his last words, which would cost him in a sword fight against the Deity of strategies, similar to how it had almost ended with Apollo- it was still worth being said.

Athena only frowned at him in disappointment, though. “You do realize the utility of a faction, even after moving up to the top on your own, yet you insist to choose the weaker one. Nonetheless, the proposal is still valid, since you are expected to continue engaging in further adventures with the Lycanthropes you refer to as _friends_.”

Stiles groaned. “Those _Lycanthropes_ saved my ass even more times than certain- ”

-

Happening again within a blink -- and with that time, apparition had officially become uncool to him -- Stiles found himself back at the yard before the main hall, at the same spot Braden had left him at, and Athena was nowhere to be found.

Stiles pouted to himself, even though he knew it was better to not be able to defend his friends’ honour properly than getting in trouble that would put them in even more risk. He had already turned enough Deities against him because of that for today.

He just walked into the structure ahead instead, not bothering to calm himself beforehand once again, just in case another being would decide to cling themselves to him.

He stepped up the stairs and passed by the large columns, which supported a roof that extended beyond the throne room itself. The entrance, which was narrow compared to the huge structure, had no door, and he could not see what was inside until he entered into the short corridor.

The room looked even more elegant and exquisite than anything else Stiles had seen to that point: the golden columns were shined by fire which came out of a long, grayish-blue cauldron that was stretched through the wall, surrounding the off white-cream floor; under the glass ceiling -- which exposed unnatural night skies, as all the different, shinier than ever constellations were somehow congested into the visible part of the firmament -- there was a big, round platform which was placed in the centre of the room. There, twelve soft-grey stoned thrones stood, which were not enough to fill the circle, and thus left a place for visitors to stand on.

Stiles had to take in the view for a long moment; it was one was something that no _Minecraft_ master or even the most genius of architects would ever be able to reproduce.

There was a level of stairs around the platform, but even that was so high that Stiles almost had to climb his way up rather than stepping on it. Then he finally passed through the space that was the entrance to the circle of thrones, and walked towards the pair who occupied two of the seats.

Zeus, who sat on the highest throne which was placed right in the centre, looked a couple of sizes bigger than the day Stiles had met him, fitting himself to the great room- or, perhaps, finally had an excuse to have everything _that_ big.

The one on the throne next to him was in a similar size to him though feminine and wearing a much fancier look: first because of her brown-pink striped hair, which was well-tamed aside of her fringe which was stylized upwards in a way that Stiles’ lack of fashionable taste insisted to compare to a rhino horn -- but it also could be just because she was one of the lone people who deserved to be mocked for their look -- and then there was the bronze dress, with large, round spikes coming out from the sides. All in all, her look caught the eye much better than the king of the Deities who was sitting next to her.

...Who was also her Brother. _Gods,_ why could Stiles’ brain not let it down?

“It is a fine armour you have on you, yet it is wasted on someone who does not carry it as it deserved to be, thus proving they have yet to earn it.” Hera, the Deity-of-annoyance in Stiles’ book, tsked as he was advancing to the centre of the circle; his steps, along with her voice, echoed in the giant space. “Those Nymphs are truly worthless.”

“Funny you’re talking about worth, because this is hopefully why I’m him,” Stiles noted casually; he felt reviled that he did not have to raise his voice much in order for the two big figures in front of him to hear him. “Although, if you have to talk first about someone else, I suggest you’ll start with Gerard. Did you know that he tried to take the bite once, instead of trusting your help? Not really worth as an ally, if you ask me.”

He finally came to a stop; despite the long walk, he did not pant at all- thanks to someone in the last few months forcing him into the best fitness of his life.

He tried to process the image of standing in front of two of the most incredible species in existence -- those who were responsible to the kind of existence he was living, with how the humankind had developed -- but he knew there was nothing to really be in awe of, or to even be frightened about.

And not just because he had been close to winning a fight against a Deity; after his experience in Olympus so far, he was glad that his first visit here as a baby had been short-while, and he had grown along the kind of his Mother who had saved the sane part of his genes.

“Unfortunately, I had indeed become aware of that.” Hera folded her arms with annoyance. “Hmph, as expected of the one to be granted the benefit of the oath by being a _mortal_ descendant of Zeus.”

Stiles had almost forgotten about her so-called reason to hate him even before he had been born, even though he knew she would have hated him regardless: the story Gerard had told him the first time he had visited him in the crossing home, about that time Zeus had sworn that the next descendant of Perseus would be a great ruler one day, and had caused her to delay his birth by complicating it until Gale had put a stop to it.

Stiles’ head was so busy with other things that he had not thought of trying to worry about that future great ruler, even if for now it was Gerard who had enjoyed the privilege for as long as they had served under him.

If it meant troubles for Werewolves, who might not be protected as a part of the agreement- then it meant he was still far from finally reaching the peace and quiet he yearned so much for.

“Oh, when shall I know peace from those good-for-nothing scums?” Hera pointed out the same exact thought that had just gone through Stiles’ mind, although she was obviously not referring to the exact same people. “I should have noticed from the beginning it was a bad call- you mortals always are too much alike, even by your weapon of choice.”

Recently, Stiles had talked down about himself all time- never feeling even the slightest of pride, despite all of the accomplishments, finding himself as a failure the performance at unheard of levels. It was true that Stiles had some morals left in him, but denying the comparison to a dark being as Gerard would still be hypocritical of him, as long as it was humanity he was lacking.

Nevertheless, the last note was something he refused to expect; the general apathetic attitude was not the same as thinking alike.

“Our _mouths_ , you mean? Oh, come on. You have no idea how much of the old Stiles these past months have killed, but _this_ is something that I must have the right to keep. His narcotic-like storytelling tone -- that he’ll use while talking about Lady Gaga’s new single, too, probably -- is exactly why I’m happy to be the one between us to have Perseus’ genes being woken by Zeus fucking up my family tree yet again or whatever.”

Hera grimaced with disgust. “Indeed, I have heard a lot about that tongue of yours; it cannot help to be always in motion, as though you ate the head of the snake I have one turned against you, or as an attempt to tribute to the head of Medusa which Perseus carried with him. Nevertheless, I was talking about Gerard’s mace.”

“Mace?” Stiles’ eyes darted as he searched through his memory. “What _mace_? No, he has a silver sword. Scott told me he saw him using it to cut Werewolves in half. And I think I saw it myself when they found it at the principal’s office.”

“That is exactly what I hate about him. You would think he always has such clean works, but then he goes against my word and instead of killing of keeps all of his joke of an experimentation, he keeps them on a miserable island.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “You mean _your_ miserable island.”

Hera chuckled. “While he was indeed inspired by my spirit, who was driven by my _sickness_ of heroes like you, waltzing around as though you are any better than the other filthy mortals- I put no hand in this.” Her face distorted as she spoke with sincere loath, and Stiles tried to not laugh at how her own disgust made her look so ugly. “I had no plan, only a _vision_ , after thousands of years of being critical of the mankind and their inferior abilities. The entire archaic species, aside from very selected few, can be viewed only as dumb animals. That realization is a constant agony for me. Therefore, I approached Gerard, to develop a project for me; a plan to evolve the breed of mankind and create a world where I could watch over contentedly. An ideal world made up of only the new race of men that will transcend mankind!”

If only that passion of the first lady of the Olympus for a better society was something Stiles could admire; there was a lot to fix, but whatever she was talking about, it was defiantly not it.

It seriously was for the better that Zeus gave no shit about her.

He shrugged sarcastically. “Well, didn’t he succeed? None of them looked similar to us at all.”

Her hair changed into a purple shade with green stripes all at ones, and even her dress became electric blue, as though it was also part of her.

Whether it was a side effect of getting into a fit of anger or an attempt to threaten him to silence, Stiles had seen much worse -- and had even fought some of those cases -- to have any fight-or-flight response, or to even be impressed.

“Fool!” She stomped her foot on the floor. “Why would I be satisfied?! The only worth to your life was when you have massacred them. I am glad, therefore, for you exceeding that test, even if you managed so with the rest as well. Compared to my usual anguish pain, this one I feel now is nothing.”

It looked like Stiles had terribly misapprehended how useless was her role as a Deity, and especially how egocentric she was for thinking something like that had made her know true pain like he had experienced while understanding all that his Mother had gone through because of his birth.

“If you want to make us humans better,” Stiles’ voice almost shudder under his barely-kept temper, “then why not using your power as the protector of married women to defend them from _actual_ scums? Especially when they get pregnant by someone they would’ve not given their concern to, if they had the ability.”

Zeus was right there, but after the short meeting they had had, Stiles had learned his personality good enough to correctly predict that a subject like that would get any kind of reaction out of him.

Getting even more enraged, Hera’s intensely colourful hair went berserk, as a replacement to having a bulging vein on the forehead- which would have been pumped like crazy by that point, if she had any heart; physically _and_ metaphorically

“I have been kept _locked up_ in this marriage!” her tone turned more ferocious the more she spoke. “All while women like your Mother took the credit in expanding my husband’s grand reputation. Me! The Deity of marriage and thus the best wife in the world! I’m the most desirable wife throughout history!”

Stiles released a broken laugh. “You? One of the most mentally unstable people I’ve ever known? Even mafia people would stay away from you! And then you’ve joined someone just as unstable, as if anything good could have ever turned out of it -- ”

“ -- Even if I have only met failures with Gerard, there is nothing to be ceased! Soon, I will create the culmination of the new mankind, which even men themselves have sought of for so long. Their intelligence and my physical strength and your own will be incomparable! You, of all mortals, should be the one cooperating with me.”

Stiles’ laugh turned half-crazed now, and he rubbed at his hair in frustration. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’ll _never_ be Gerard’s substitute. What, did you expect me to have a Stockholm syndrome or something like that? Just how unpolished can someone’s discretion be, after living and studying humans for so many years? Just what was it that Gerard told you that convinced you he was any different, I gotta know.”

Her flashy look was dimmed a bit, although her fists were still clenched. “I have asked Gerard to catch you for me. He claimed that, as animals are mostly hunted while eating, the optimal way to get you dead is through impossible trails which would feed your drive towards glory.”

Stiles had not expected her to answer that, but after hearing her reply, he was too shocked to even go through the life crisis as he should have by the realization of the true stupidity of his greatest enemy.

“So, basically, the reason you’ve waited so long for me to get stronger and more trained was basically just so the moment you’ll crush me would be _sweeter_. I, uh, yeah. Neat. No, it really is. I mean, yeah, it’ll be too weird to send someone at the age of ten or whatever to Labours fitting of a true hero -- not that any of them including _saving actual people_ \-- but making my Boa attack me was seriously the best you could’ve done until then? I get that it was a bit tough to do that without getting other humans’ attention with me being the Sheriff’s son and all, but still, there was no way you could think I _was_ that ridiculously clumsy and too anxious for my own good that- ”

He cut himself off, eyes widen in shock then narrowing with suspicion.

It was a constant pattern throughout his life, but could it really be as it suddenly seemed?

“Was that it? All those times I lost control, my Mum’s sudden illness- it was all on you, wasn’t it? You’ve waited for me to literally digging my own grave. You’ve waited all that long... Just in case I’ll _kill_ myself?”

In one moment, all the disparagement he had felt about her intelligence washed away, being replaced by something that was not quite fear, as it felt like he had long lost.

Because all this time he was risking himself so easily only in order to save others, but would he have fought that hard if it was only about saving himself?

“There were times I’ve… ran what-ifs scenarios in my head.” Stiles’ voice grew weaker the more he spoke, and he could not raise his gaze from his feet, where, for all he knew, he might be standing right above Beacon Hills. “The first thing I’ve instinctively thought was that my Dad would only feel relief, that it wouldn’t be the same as it’s been for him with my Mum. And if I knew all that I know now in those moments, especially about Derek, it just might have pushed me enough -- ”

“ -- A son of mine putting an end to his life because of a scion of Lycaon? You better quit those unacceptable remarks of yours at once! Remember who you are speaking with!”

Suddenly Stiles froze, and his expression was entirely cold mood as he glanced at the one to unfortunately create that very life of Stiles they were discussing about, yet had shown no ownership whatsoever about them up until that moment.

“Werewolves. They are called _Werewolves_. They are people who stuck with a certain nature _because of you_ and are doing their best to deal with it, so no human will get hurt for what an idiot one has done for you so many years ago that it’s not funny anymore. How can you not give a shit about me helping Harris, or Prometheus, whatever, but you do about Lycaon's descendants?! They have done nothing to you! They know you as a legend and couldn't care less!”

Zeus did not even blink at his argument. “They know me as a legend for a reason- the very same one Atlas keeps the other mortals to be aware of _them_. Lycaon was a proof to me that even _I_ have a Sword of Damocles over my head; there had been others who caused us all that trouble of sacrificing our power for the better of staying away from the mortal world, and yet, he had been worse than them all. You can never tell how worse his successor shall become, and for that they deserve their destiny. You should be an ally to that stance, too. After all, you are also a divinity.”

“ _Half_ divine,” Stiles immediately corrected him. “I have your genes, but I'm as mundane as divinity-related.”

“That is not how it works with children of Deities. You may not be immortal, but the mortal part has long died in you.”

“Oh really? So do you holy-ones have panic attacks too? That'd be great to hear, really. I'm super serious, by the way. Although I guess you don't have a lot of reasons to have it, considering people you know die all the time and you just forget about it- ”

Stiles quieted as it hit him at once; his face turned blank, not able to contain the rage boiling inside of him more and more with every passing minute. His breaths came out sharp through his nose, and his whole body shook with a will to go and confront Zeus literally face to face, so he could see just how furious he made him.

“You sat there and _watched_ as Mum was slowly dying, that entire time she was sick- and you did _nothing,_ ” he hissed through locked teeth, voice rougher than ever coming through his mouth, and there was a threatening hint to a growl to come out of him as well.

It was not like he did not know the reason for this- he had known since the very first moment he had discovered the identity of his divine parent; even while hearing about the kindness of other Deities, like that of Hecate for example, he had known from day one that there was one he should never hope to find out that there was a recurring mistake in the legend being passed down by generations who had lived without the Deities, and expect him any better from his character.

But the little, innocence child in him had taken the better of him anyway, because this was the only thing whose logic had yet to be uncovered, and still made no sense, even at a point where countless myth actually did.

“As I have told you before, there are things that are settled by Moirai, or even by Ate, Daimona of rash action, that are beyond my power,” Zeus responded, his voice unregretfully indifferent; although Stiles could not see his expression through the heavy tears streaming from his eye, it was clear to him that the Deity was not touched the slightest by his raw emotion.

“You could make her suffer less!” He screamed futile retrospective remarks just because he had to, tears wetting his cheeks. “That’s Bullshit! Your son, king Aeacus, was made immune _by you_ to the plague made from the very power of Hera; even Dionysus was saved by you hiding him in your freaking _thigh_ , and then you made sure to order Nymphs to raise him in disguise. You could take her pain away or make it somehow easier, _something_!”

“You are too young to understand,” Hera scoffed him. “She was nothing for him but a... _temporal comfort_. He would have forgotten her entirety among the rest of countless women he spends time with if it was not for you.”

Stiles took a step forward before even thinking about it. “My Mother got tricked by his charm just like you’ve been unfortunate to be tricked into marrying him, but she still was a better person than you by any other mean, so don't you _dare_ to compare her to anyone.”

Hera got up on her legs, her colours flaming once more. “Why you, you fool child -- ”

“ -- You shall _not_ speak in my name, that is enough!” The ruler of the Olympians' voice cracked through the air like lightning in his version of a warning growl.

Hera sat back down immediately, looking away with her mouth twisted with unpleasant. After that, she had turned right back to her shape beforehand, with the shade of her feature brownish again.

Stiles would have smirked, but he was too busy struggling with his uncontrollable cry.

“Let yourself be equally warned,” Zeus turned back to him. “I would not show patience to your outbursts any longer, no matter their content.”

Stiles wiped his tears and shrugged. “You’re my parent, after all. It’s about time you’ll start get disappointed with me.”

Zeus slammed his fist on the armrests of his throne so hard that, and the shockwave created by that startled Stiles enough to help him calm down, at least enough to not have tears disturbing his sight every few seconds.

“The only reason I forgive your relationship with one who has a continuous blood connection to Lycaon is that you will have worse sins once you join us,” Zeus told him, “just as I was tempted to have your Mother for myself, and just like the mistakes of my other sons with mortals. Even the most kind-hearted would not survive an eternity without getting what they want; they would either get mad in avoiding their soul's desires for too long, or losing their temper and patience in answering so many complaints and wishes, the moment they understand there will never have an end to either of those.”

Stiles snuffled with a weak half-grin. “I start to admire people like the Jews more and more with each word that come out of your mouth, for refusing to worship you before _and_ after your prime, whether they pray for something real or not.”

Zeus shook his head. “No matter what you think, Alcaeüs, your place is between us Deities.”

“Stiles.”

It surprised Zeus enough to not be able to respond immediately. “Restate yourself?”

“Call me _Stiles_ , not this stupid Greek name you made my Mum calling me. I will not answer to any other name ever again.”

Zeus glared down at him. “That is _not_ a named fitted to a hero who is a child of mine. Now, since you have already been warned, you cannot retract your words -- ”

“ -- You know what? Fine. Have it your way.” Stiles was able to take his demand back just as he was told not to, as he had a better idea anyway. “But if you don’t call me the name I’m associated with, then at least refer to me the same way my Mum chose to. Call me Heracles.”

Even without a lot of self-dignity left in him, it was something the Demigod valued and cherished too much to not be stubborn about.

“Why you,” Hera murmured, her hair going wild again.

“Did you know Claudia is a Roman name?” Stiles tried to keep his tone as light as possible. “I’ve never had the chance to ask anyone what’s your opinion on the Romans, more than what I’ve already heard of treating them as a tool for your desire to get separated from humans, but I bet you don’t really like the way they redesigned the worship of their versions of all of you, in the spirit of what suited them. Anyway, it’s such an irony that her name was invented by _that_ nation.”

“I can see through you,” Hera said in a sing-song tone, smiling. “The meaning of the name is not as thrilling as the origin.”

“Nope. The name might come from a word which means enclosure, but overall it means someone who’s lame, or even crippled.” Stiles’ smile brightened then, as she had only helped him get to his point. “But that’s just another irony, isn’t it? Zeus himself couldn’t resist her. _You_ couldn’t stop her, until an illness that played with her mind and her very _fighting spirit_ took over her. You did, however, almost made it with her son, until you made him fulfil the true potential of his very own latent strength which _you_ provided to its exposure. Not so lame anymore, is it?” He snuffled again, as though to emphasize his words. “And it’s even a win-win situation, because it helped your own damaged reputation. The credit, the one you said you were looking for so long, is all yours. Mum and me, we would have been just other victims of Zeus’ hit-and-runs if it wasn’t for you. We wouldn’t have been shit. Hell, your husband would not have been able to show his face in public by the embarrassment of his literal bastard, if you didn’t intervene.”

Zeus held Hera’s wrist down. Stiles did not know how powerful she was, but even without Zeus, he was not alarmed by her. Not anymore; never ever again.

“In other words,” Stiles started, and made sure to raise his chin and trying to gain all of the divinity traits so he could show off the undamageable part of his ego for maximum damage to that of Hera; his eyes probably were shiny as well from crying, but as long as id added to the effect he did not care. “I obtained my glorious fame thanks to _you_. Mum never joked about it. More than I’m of your husband, or of anyone else- I’m Hera’s _clês_ ; _your_ glory.”

It felt like Hera’s true form was about to be shown to him, as his eyes burnt so much at her growing glow that he had to blink repeatedly. It was clear that she was debating with herself if it was worth to react in a way that would ruin her so-called graceful façade, until Zeus patted her hand once more, signalizing to her to stop before she would morph.

She did not really relax that much, but all that Stiles could really care about was that her aura had been put under control.

Zeus nodded. “Let it be Heracles, then.”

Hera was out of words for a few moments. “How can you give a mortal the right for that, for the likes of him?”

Zeus looked at her in the eyes and squeezed her hand, misleadingly mimicking a gesture of a true, loyal-to-the-end lover. “My spouse deserves the best, and this case is no different. You shall be remembered for your successes, instead of your downfalls.”

The other Deity clearly wanted to say something about that, but held it back in favour of a bad version of a shy half-smile.

It may be sad, witnessing the very abuse which might have turned her into what she was- but Stiles had zero sympathies to give. An act of bullying could never be overlooked because of its abusing source.

Instead, he was so glad, even more than before, that he had back at home the exact opposite of that kind of figure to call his Father.

“Shall I take it as your final decision, then?” Zeus suddenly returned his attention to him. **“** Despite being the strongest in existence, both for mortals and divines, you wish to stay with those who will never know to respect your true worth?”

Stiles did not expect to be declared as the strongest living being of that time, but while Zeus knew enough to be able to conclude something like that, what was for sure was that the Deity knew nothing about determining one’s true worth.

As sick as he was from changing emotions so quickly, Stiles’ frustration went back at once.

Why were Deities so blocked-minded?

“Have I _ever_ showed any hesitation?! I thought I made it clear: _especially_ after my visit here today, I don’t get, and hate, frankly, all about your lifestyle of gods.”

Zeus tensed immediately, enough to leave his wife's hand. “ _Deities_. God is a name for the ridiculous replacement mortals have found for us.”

“ _Gods_ ,” Stiles insisted. “A lot of people do crazy things in the name of the one they believe in, but after what I’ve seen so far, all of you don't deserve enough respect for anything less than that, and I really don’t want to be a part of it.”

Zeus stood up, exposing the true size of his tremendous body. “The other Deities are more tolerant with that, but I will never stay quiet while hearing someone using that term with us.”

Stiles was not fazed. “Call me an impious and kill me for it, then, but at least let me do what I came here to do. Seal that fucking deal already.”

“It already has been, since you have made your first step into my palace. I thus daclare you a hero of Olympus, and, as promised, Beacon Hills shall receive its protection mark against forces with dark intentions coming from divinity beings, which shall remain in your name even after passing to the other life.”

Zeus drew [two vertical parallel lines, and a horizontal “S _”_ shape which crossed the middle of them](https://www.suberic.net/~dmm/astro/img/calli/Hercules.png). The symbol glowed, and melted away into the air a moment later.

Stiles knew that probably meant the Werewolves were not included, but he stopped himself from asking about that; he did not trust Zeus to phrase it in a way that would cause the actual good ones to be able to stay for long in the territory the Hale family had battled for way before he had been born.

“Nevertheless,” Zeus made Stiles blinking his attention back from the point the sign was drawn on, “your attitude today was unacceptable and has gone too far. However great hero you are, I will not overlook it.”

Stiles took a big breath, staring at Zeus dead in the eye, returning as much confidence through his words as he still felt about anything he had stated during their conversation. “Understood.”

He would not regret it. Even though he had just been told he could have ended it sooner, and even gotten back to his loved ones alive- he would not have said anything differently. His Mother’s honour deserved to be protected, and so was that of the Werewolves.

If he was one to stuck himself up Zeus’ ass and pretend to like it, as was expected to him, none of his so-called great deeds could have happened. The one who had done them was a boy named Stiles, and he was there because this was the kind of person he had happened to be- and the whole point about him, unlike anything else the other Deities had tried to claim to be, was his so marvellously broken head-to-mouth filter. If that was not who he truly was, he would not have come that far, and so there was no reason to go against his greatest instinct.

His tongue was sharper and hit harder than any weapon in the world, even while being used by him; he had always believed that the self-sacrifice was undeniable, all the way to the last moment, so if he had to have a glorious life, then it should end not by a monster, but by this very way.

And if he was _that_ great, he was somehow going to survive this, too.

Soon enough, an electric bolt emerged in Zeus’ hand, and Stiles closed his eyes.

In an effort to not let his self-assurance being damaged even for a lone second of the few that was remaining to him, he pictured all the memories he had had of the Hale family.

There was not a lot, and most of them were too vague to realize where and when they had occurred, but their expressions and faces were clear enough to classify them in his memory under that title.

His Father was going to drink himself to death, but at least he took a revenge for them.

Scott was going to feel so bad that the panic attack he had once had at the school’s showers would become a regular thing, but at least he took a revenge for them.

Lydia would have to think about him every time she would get tired of stitching her clothes, or looking at men getting more comfortable about wearing dresses during her lifetime, but at least he took a revenge for Derek.

No, Derek _and_ _Cora_.

Why had his name popped into his mind, like Derek would be emotionally affected by his death too? Like Stiles _hoped_ he would?

Pathetic.

“ _Hold on_!”

Stiles opened his eyes at once, but all he could see were hundreds of electric currents being unified into one, big lump of flashy light.

A second later and it was gone, and through the black dots in his eyes due to staring right into such a strong light- he could see Zeus staring down at Hera, clearly impatient.

Had it really just happened? Had Hera, actively, _seriously_ , out of her _own_ will, really ceased Zeus’ act of murder at the last moment, and by that-

“The motive of the boy to let his passion flow through his tongue is plain,” Hera said amusingly, as Stiles still fought the difficulty in sight to be able to read through her expression. “Why not let him taste through his own, perhaps literally, medicine?”

She returned to Zeus a look, and before Stiles managed to rub his eyes and blink them enough so the aftereffect he was going through would end- Zeus rose his hand, and -- very classically by that point -- he was banished to elsewhere.

-

Stiles felt the difference immediately; in Olympus, even when everything around him was much larger than him, he walked there as though he was bigger than life. It was like everything completely mundane could not survive there, as the only way to stand all the greatness all around the place was being one, and in case you were not, then forcing yourself to be.

Back on Earth, though… The wind blew calmly, yet unstoppable enough so it was eternally unimpactful; the birds chirp, and would continue to do so years after his death would be long forgotten.

Here, he was just Stiles.

Or, more correctly, as he was still wearing the armour- he was closer than ever to be back, but not quite there; putting it off, suddenly felt like living himself too vulnerable in a such a fragile world.

He picked up his phone which fell on the ground next to him -- and was thankfully undamaged -- and the way the leaves tickled his palms, along with the crackling noise they made when he shifted his weight on them to duck down were both an experience of its own.

None of the materials that he had seen back there were actual _matter_ , he suddenly realized as he was looking around at all the objects surrounding him. Everything suddenly felt like they stole more and more space of the limited area -- however big it is -- they had on the surface of Earth. Back _there_ , it had felt like everything had extended the sense of the eternal field of freedom, while only holding the phone felt so stupid and so painfully unnecessary.

He was an elephant in a china shop, and had no idea what to do.

Even if he still had the same feeling he had had there, of freedom, he would have surely felt shittier. It had been more or less half a year since this all thing had started, and now, after it had all ended- it felt like the sunlight would never overcome enough the darkness that he had been seeing around him ever since he had witnessed the true terror that the Deities were. It was like either it was all over, or it could never really end.

Instead of experiencing the same thing as astronauts had to feel whenever they landed back from space -- fresh air feeling too much after having their breath taken away -- he was going insane by the way of the behind-the-scenes of the world as he had just been exposed to, with nothing being fair and never completely right.

He was too tired to even try to reflect on the last trick that Hera had pulled right before he had been sent back; the numbness he had felt for too long was taking a hold on him once more, and he knew it was a defense mechanism which had been stimulated by being warned out from _yearning_ so much, to people he loved and just to calm times in general.

He knew should not let emotions driven by a place he had nothing to do with anymore to affect him, but it was not as easy when he had no goal to fight for any longer.

No, fuck that; nothing would confirm his mission was over as long as he had not been proven that his mere presence put no one in danger anymore.

One last push; and not the bullshit that was said to comfort someone, because if there was still point to hope in the goddamn world, then this was _truly_ the last one.

But why did that thought suddenly made him feel like wanting to quit it right there and then, almost out of spite, out of all the possible points along the way? What was with this childish way of thinking, that left him torn and shivering in something between irritation and anxiety?

He forced himself to ignore it all and walked out of the woods, stepping through his backyard and then to his house -- his _home_ \-- and felt like an even bigger of an idiot to not expect to find the back door locked. 

Stiles was nervous as he pressed on the contact shortcut in his phone’s home screen- so much that he jerked in startlement when he heard the familiar ringtone from the second floor.

“Stiles?!” He heard the frantic call both through the phone and through the echo through the house’s walls.

“I’m in the back,” he barely murmured in reply.

“What?! Speak louder, I can’t hear you!”

Stiles sighed; it was handy that his second nature was being a wisecrack while covering the true depth of his embitterment. “You’re trying to buy time so you can hide the curly fries in the fridge, huh? You cheater.”

Ignoring his own very rule about not running in the house, his Father was by the door within seconds. He took only a very short moment to take in the scene of Stiles indeed was the person waiting to him behind the door, assuring himself that it really was him, then eventually wrapping his arms strongly around his son.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles muffled into the other’s shoulder, while his own was grabbed by a shaky hand.

His nose was squashed in a way that it made it hard to breathe, along with the pressure on his ribs, but Stiles did not want to go any further from his Father than this. He wanted to stay forever inside that familiar warm enclosure, made of two broken beings who risked their lives daily way too much, considering how lost they would become the day they lost each other.

He wanted to stay there because that way he could avoid all that would come after they break the reunion hug, which was nothing but preparation to the next attack. _That_ was the part of the adult world they should have warned him about, because living away from that warmth within reach was what really killed you in the end.

It was then where Stiles burst up in a hysteric, desperate crying, because being held like that, where he could lean his weight on someone else and know they would carry it gladly -- a parental instinct his Father had not been able to act on for a long while, which made it be as much for his sake as for Stiles’ relief -- was way too nice for his mind to accept.

Fuck, he would never learn how to get out of his war zone, would he not? No wonder why he had felt his instincts trying to convince him to run away a minute ago, chasing the hazard that was no longer there for him, not within Beacon Hills’ borders.

“At least now I know you’re not a dream again,” his Father whispered after a while, hand brushing his son’s hair. “You never cry or shiver like that in them.”

Stiles breathed in his Father’s smell; it could not be a very developed hallucination he himself was having, right?

But even in that scenario, he could not let himself ignore his Father’s sadness.

“I’m not shivering, it was just my stomach,” Stiles laughed wetly, but then his whines started breaking through his whole body so hard that he was struggling with every word he was trying to utter to make sure it was pronounced properly. “I was sure it was so loud, that it surprised me it didn’t ruin the moment. Also, I don’t think I’d wear something like that in your dreams.”

Only the surprise by the last note made it possible for the parent to take a step back -- although not too far, so they still shared a personal space together -- and observed his heavily shielded child.

“What does that mean?” He looked back at Stiles, fear in his eyes from the possibilities of this.

Stiles became too aware of how ridiculous he looked with his bottom lip wobbling as he tried to keep himself cool, unlike the epic effect the armour should have given him.

Before he could open his mouth and reassure him, though, his Father shook his head dismissively. “Hold it for now, let’s go inside.”

After he was situated in his lap on the sofa and trembled out as much of his teary misery as he could, Stiles finally told him about the successful outcome of his meeting with the Deities, and what it meant. He did not elaborate about what had exactly occurred during and before that, and was glad to not be asked to elaborate as speaking about it would only make him go through a harder time as he was already having of feeling like nothing had been finished or changed.

“They gave me this just because it was more appropriate to wear, instead of the pyjamas I had,” he explained, as at least it was something he could talk lightly about. “But it was not enough to make them consider to keep me there for longer than exactly one second. You know me, as soon as I start to mouth off, it’s over. So, I guess I’m a failure, after all.” He snuffled. “Now that my divine, biological parent officially threw me away, all I can hope that my pops will not be too disappointed that I preferred to stay on Earth and cause him more headaches.”

The one in question released a wet laugh, before dragging him even closer, warping him tight enough that Stiles could feel it even through the metal. “Don’t stop, then. You must never stop disappointing me like that, son.”

Stiles did not know what he had done to be gifted a love of that degree, but he could not even think about deserving it or not because _oh_ was he so goddamn glad for that.

To think that Zeus offered him a change of life where he could have never had _that_ again- the one thing which was enough on its own to prove that humans were greater than celestial beings; even if his mortal part died, there was no way he would not have missed it.

Moreover, at this point, even his divine side seemed to not be immune to his awful mental state.

“It’s truly a rock bottom if you actually don’t mind my humour, huh?” Stiles weakly squeezed his arm. “If I knew that, I would have done that homecoming _Mulan_ style. Although we’d need a cherry blossom tree for that. But we could just have you sitting on the couch with one of my -- ”

“ -- _Stiles_.”

“ _Aaaand_ we’re back again.”

“No, I’m serious. I’m taking the next two days off so we can go to that camping trip you owe me. And you better _not_ hum those crappy Disney songs of yours, not as long as you already chose to stay here and deal with the consequences. You’ll have that party tonight to have as much as you want of that.”

Stiles had totally forgotten about that; he had longed so much for just coming back home that he had not thought of in what shape he would return, and had initiated the activity while not feeling like taking part in one.

As much as he missed everyone, and could not wait to see them again as a normal teenage boy who had no motive of concern to seek their company- he was far from there; if by the first day of school he had somehow been able to focus for a few minutes on what had been taught in class that day, then at this point anything trivial, as a social situation, was not realistic for him. His mind still did not get the idea he should not be alert at any given moment anymore, and he would be able to get used to it only by idling about.

A promise was a promise, though, as much as he was in need for everything to slow down. He would probably disappoint them, as it was his fault to request a party without realizing the _partying_ part it included and thinking about it a bit more, and all he could hope that they would not mind and let him go after a short time while continue to enjoy themselves on their own.

The celebration was anyway about _their_ freedom instead of anything related to him, as far as Stiles was concerned; so, all in all, attempting to do something like that alone with his Father for a couple of days was not possible.

Stiles shifted a little in his place. “Not that I forgot my promise, but could we delay that a little? At least by a week? I’m fine with the party mainly because you’ll be there, but I don’t really feel like being too much away from home right now.”

His Father released his embrace, straightening back as his eyes started to examine Stiles again, although this time not because of his armour. “Yes, of course. You- You said you wanted something to eat, right? Are you hurt somewhere? I’ll have to call Melissa, to get her prepared for us.”

“No, there’s no need!” Stiles rose up himself, enough to lay a hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder to keep him for rushing anywhere. “I’m totally fine, I swear. Any little injury that I’ve had was cleaned by- Well, the most important thing is that I’m fully healed.” Stiles thought about it a little more, just to make sure there really was nothing to worry about. “Uh, okay, so I kinda might pee my pants if I have to hold it any longer, so let me treat _that_ first.”

The Sheriff snorted, and Stiles tore himself off of their contact for the first time to start working on getting the armour off of him.

“Hey,” his Father suddenly said, making Stiles raising his head again. “Tonight, at the party, will you wear it on?”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “Huh? Why?”

“I’ll let you save most of the story for tonight with the others, but it’s better if you do that with the trophy you’ve earned for that. You deserve that honour, as much as I deserve to show you off for once.”

Stiles rose an eyebrow. “I didn’t let my stay at the Olympus to inflate my ego, and now you put my very little modesty to the test again? And hey, what do you mean by _for once_? Isn’t my knowledge of how many times they say _I have a bad feeling about this_ in each movie of _Star Wars_ , and even describing every scene of it- not enough of a reason to show me off?”

His Father groaned. “Weren’t you about to have an incident you could not prevent for long anymore?”

“Ugh, you’re right, crap!” Stiles returned right back to the laces at the side of his cuirass, as his Father rolled his eyes at him and passed by him to the kitchen.

The pressure caused him to suddenly find trouble with the knots, though, and soon enough he lost his balance and found himself on the floor.

It was just like him to get new bruises such a short time after going through a magical healing, but at this point he knew to cherish those, as a proof that he still had something left of the old Stiles in him to bring back.

-

Scott was the first to jump on him with a firm, full-on-Werewolf-strength hug.

Next was Lydia, and only that fact, even more than the situation of her starting to hug him out of her own will- was more surreal than everything he had been through. As strange as it was, he was of course rewarding to go through so much to make her openly show her relief and content, and he welcomed the change of demeanour wholeheartedly- unlike Jackson, who made a sneering sound behind them. One glare later, though, and he bothered to grant Stiles a pat on the shoulder as well.

Afterwards was Allison, who unexpectedly had come with her Father. Except the little awkward moment when they shook hands and shared nods, Stiles did not mind that much, as Chris was still a saner Argent than others Stiles knew, and it was for the better to let him also be in the know about the dark aspect of the life as a Werewolf.

Stiles then received more hugs from Danny, who fortunately seemed to be glad for a chance to unwind by being out in the open with a better company, after everything he had been through; Hippolyte and her clique, who also offered hair musses and cheek pinching; Heather, who made sure to leave a very hard smooch on his cheek; Pholly, who made Stiles to turn around himself to better show the whole armour; and finally, Melissa, who got teary-eyed more than everyone.

Just when he thought those were all of them, he was shocked with yet another surprise guest.

“Woah, don't sneak on me like that!” Stiles muttered irritably at the polecat who climbed over his body to reach his shoulder. “How did you even hear about this?”

_You can say you’re the talk of the town, in the terms of the Olympus. I had to meet with Braeden, to hear from her how you were doing, and she told me you were organizing a celebration party of some sort. I hope it’s okay I’ve invited myself._

“Of course it is! It’s a chance to honour you, too, after what you’ve had to sacrifice way before all of this started.”

Stiles then looked at the rest of the guests of the party, who stared at him partly confused but mostly worriedly.

He snorted, then turned to his Father at his side. “Well, Dad, meet Gale. You might have remembered her in her human form, when she midwifed Mum.”

There was a long silence, before the Sheriff finally responded quietly: “You don’t happen to be the one who punched a lady who sat on the hallway for no reason, now do you?”

_If you mean Eileithyia by that, the Deity who tried to provoke your wife’s birth, then yes, it was me._

A lot of surprised gasps came from all around the group of people, while those who were not unnerved by hearing her voice in their head reacted with a laugh at the absurd.

“Yep, Hera tried that too,” Stiles told his Father, as well to the rest of the listeners. “But thanks to Gale, she failed. So, I meant it- this one,” he turned to face the rest, and pointed at Gale’s place at his shoulder, “is the real guest of honour here. She’s the one who led me to find Erica and Boyd, too, along with a lot of other pieces of advice that helped me throughout the way.”

_Under Hecate Soteria’s guidance._

“Under Hecate Soteria’s guidance,” Stiles repeated through a sigh. “For those of you who don’t know, Hecate is the goddess of crossroads, and the one who took Gale under her wing after she was punished by Hera for ruining her plans of preventing my birth. And may she forgive me for being rude -- I know a lot of it was depended on her own kindness more than willing to do a favour to Gale -- but I had a little too much of gods these past few days for my entire lifetime, and made me believe that nothing would have happened without enough nudges from this little one.” He gently poked Gale in the side of her head.

_That’s enough, Stiles. As happy as I am that you find my acts quite entertaining, I’m sure everyone here cannot wait to hear about the incredible ones of yours._

“And even more about what you’re wearing,” Heather said, glancing him up and down. “Where did you get this?”

“Well, the armour turned up to be a gift, I guess, since they didn’t take it back when I was kicked out of the Olympus.”

“Of course they did,” Hippolyte commented. “Making you take it off would have been a sin even the Deities couldn’t make.”

Oh gods, was she even aware _his Father_ was _right_ there?

Luckily, he was already going to get to a subject that put _him_ in an inconvenient position.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Anyway, the cape is a different story. I, uh, well, kinda had to skin it myself out of a completely to any kind of weapon Lion I fought on my first Labour, so I would have something invulnerable to shield me at the fight at my last Labour, against Cerberus, the guard dog of the Underworld. Not really my idea, I think, but it really turned out to be effective, as disgusted as I am to wear that.”

Oh, it really was a good thing that he was not sober at all while doing that, with how only talking about it made his stomach turn. It only comforted him to think of the look on Moll’s face when Stiles had returned for the Lion’s skin, which had to be _priceless_.

 “Effective? _Cowardly_.”

Stiles was astonished yet again, as he watched Isaac, Erica and Boyd revealing themselves from the shadows- although it was a bit hard for him to see the faces of the last two, as only Isaac had stepped fully out of a dark part that the floodlights did not cover.

No one made a move around Stiles, but he could not ignore the change of the environment in the air as soon as they had gotten closer- although it was hard for him to determine whether it was by them simply being there or because them specifically meeting with _him_.

But if they were too smart to have a concerning-worthy motive to come, with so many people around, both strong and innocence ones, could he really buy it that there was no plan to crash the party?

When Stiles did not react, Isaac just shook his head before explaining himself: “You seriously can’t manage without us to cover for you, so you got yourself an invulnerable pelt as a cape? How hopeless can you be?”

Whether it reflected the mindset of the two other Betas or not- relatively to Isaac, it was still very casual.

 _Too_ casual, in fact.

Bewildered even further, Stiles observed him for a little more.

Their exchange of mockery had always had something more serious than a good spirit competition to see who could drive the other further up the wall- even the only time he had seriously tried to hurt him was under the effect of the full moon. The only time Isaac had actually tried to take the chance to fulfill his personal needs to hurt someone had been because of the belief of Lydia being the Kanima -- and aside the fact it was Lydia who had almost been killed, it was almost nothing in comparison to what Stiles had almost done to him for _no reason_ \-- but there had always been something between jealousy and protectiveness regarding his pack in his attitude toward Stiles, more than even with Scott, as though he had known from the start there was something wrong with Stiles.

All in all, the fact that Isaac had not referred to the revelation of his association with Gerard was confusing, because he definitely could take the chance to make a remark about that.

He should keep in mind that a few months had passed ever since he had last seen them, as hard as it was to comprehend that- but what could have changed his attitude toward _him_ , after the promise for revenge Isaac had announced the last time they had met?

Even if they had already found Gerard and had made him pay the price, how could Isaac, out of the three, behave so straightforwardly in a business-as-usual manner?

Either way, he would have to leave the questionable turn of events of later- the last thing Stiles wanted was to make them feel awkward or unwelcomed; even if had not expected them to take the invention seriously, he _had_ proposed it sincerely.

Which meant, naturally, to mock him right back.

“I wish it could also make me invulnerable to the sound of the voice of someone who would’ve failed the first Labour even _with_ this on, but I guess it’s a little too much to ask. Of course, tonight’s a special enough occasion that I agree to tolerate that, because the more people in a party, the better, but I am impressed of how bored you’ve become after not having to help me for a while, that you came all the way to here to see _me_.”

Isaac shrugged. “Well, it’s really gotten quiet ever since you hospitalized yourself in that madhouse. Not that I’m complaining- it was so much better like that, I couldn’t believe my luck. But recently I started to feel like I don’t appreciate it as much as I should, so I decided I had to witness your loud mouth once more, to remind myself what kind of hell I had to go through during the summer.”

It looked like he succeeded to let Isaac feel comfortable, but his words also reminded Stiles that his decision was not enough: he should give Isaac material to humiliate him to his heart’s content, but he had no right to deliver the same attitude.

At this point, after Isaac had accumulated more and more reasons to justify that kind of treatment toward him- Stiles had to take that and not do anything further that would relieve the pain of the disgrace.

From here on, all he could do was to keep letting it sting him.

“Well, I hope for you we don’t share many classes this year,” Stiles breathed, and was about to move on when a tongue clicked behind Isaac.

“Don’t try to hide the wagging tail when I’m standing _right behind you_ , Isaac.” Erica walked out of the shade that hidden her face, so her teasing smile was visible when she stepped forward to put her hand over her fellow packmate’s shoulder, cooing him. “Admit it, you missed him as hard as us.”

Stiles gaped at her. Considering they had actually gotten close, he was sure Erica would be the one to take his back-stabbing even worse than Isaac, which would have turned her back to the hostile version of herself before she had been kidnapped.

But instead of sharing a salty temperament, Isaac was rolling his eyes at her, and Erica just winked at Stiles with nothing unfavourable in her eyes.

And more of that- was she really willing to utter something like _that_? For _his_ sake?

“Have you, a _Werewolf_ , just made a _dog joke_?”

“Err, Stiles?” Scott’s eyes passed fast between Stiles and his Father.

While sharing with the Sheriff the fact that there was something supernatural about the serial killer sacrificing people all around Beacon Hills, Scott and the others had not exposed him to any other information related to that- apparently out of respect to Stiles’ wishes to keep those issues away from his Father, so long the Sheriff department could not help the situation more than them.

At this point, though, even Stiles had to admit there was no reason to keep everything under his radar anymore; and so, during the period between lunch and until they had arrived at the party, they had informed each other about different subjects- as Stiles had had more stuff to learn about himself, like the discreet support given to his parents by Heather's Mother.

“I’ve filled him in about everything earlier, don’t worry,” Stiles reassured Scott. “If there’s someone we _do_ need to worry about -- ”

“ -- Is you, who don’t let us get the party started?” Erica raised her eyebrows at him. “There’s _a lot_ of food, and you look like you should seize at least half of it to yourself, as someone who’s lost everything you’ve achieved from your training.”

Stiles did not care to examine his body’s state up until that point -- even during the shower he had taken, he focused more in finishing with everything fast enough to be able to spend as much time with his Father as he could before being shared with everyone at the party -- but after quickly observing himself, his arms indeed looked thinner in comparison to what he remembered them to be, before he had checked into Eichen House.

When he raised his head again, everyone already advanced to the clearing with the picnic tables ahead, and even Gale had jumped off of him, too.

He stared at this group of people, who seemed to have absolutely nothing to do with each other- and yet they had taken time out of their weekend to arrange all of this, when they surely could have found much better way to secretly celebrate their town and everyone’s lives being saved, without the one who had caused the danger to begin with.

It was only when his Father patted on his back, smiling at him encouragingly, when he followed as well to the oddest, yet most _perfect_ party that could have ever be made.

-

Stiles and Scott were sitting on the base on the _U_ shape that the picnic tables were arranged as, while the rest either busied themselves with filling their plates with barbeque and whatnot, or talked with each other about their relation to Stiles (and some even more awkward conversations, like the one Jackson and Chris had). It was weird watching it all from the side, almost like he moved a few years forward to his wedding or something.

There was no music, and nothing was arranged to be too outgoing; but despite the calming atmosphere and everyone’s endeavors to assure him that they had all been totally fine while he had been gone and he should not feel bad with himself, Stiles could not stop thinking about what his Father had told him only about visiting him in Eichen house -- as many times a week as Stiles’ schedule there allowed them to -- which Stiles remembered nothing about.

Stiles had to know the real impact of the last months that the rest avoided talking about, and only felt comfortable to ask Scott directly about it.

Scott explained to him that the reason he had not come to see him as well was because of the Sheriff’s request, although staying true to that promise had not been easy; in fact, he claimed that it had been as hard for him as the disconnection from Allison during the summer. Stiles was happy to find that the situation had at least helped to ease the tension between the two, while joining forces against Derek’s pack suspicious behavior, as they kept asking about Stiles’ state while refusing to give a clear reason for their motive- although they had assisted with the little there had been to do about the Darach situation, like taking turns in night-watches.

In any case, no one had expected when Stiles had broken out of Eichen House all of a sudden, and they had all gathered to try to track him. The following days had been the worst, as no one was entirely sure he would come back from the Olympus, or even want to- which disgruntled Stiles a little.

“I know you don’t know that many Greek mythology stories, but even knowing one of them is enough to get a true image of the gods,” he told him in a scolding tone. “They’re petty, selfish, horny assholes. I’ve got a little of all of that in me, too, but did you _really_ expect me to be blind by some pretty Nymphs to oversee the fact I’ll have to spend immortality with this bad, cruel soap opera? _Away from all of you_? Come on, you know me better than this.”

“You met _Nymphs_?” Pholly rushed to stand next to them as soon as he heard the word, eyes shining.

Stiles laughed. “Yes, and _yes_ , the males ones were hot, but it was more than that. _Dude_ , they made plants at the peak of the blossom season to look like such a plain-looking thing! Ugh, I wish I could take a photo with them, but they took my phone away for some reason. They tried to flirt with me, but I was so short on time that I couldn’t even consider rolling with it.”

“You undeserving son of a bitch,” Pholly shook his head. “If you don’t take me with you next time, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Yeah, I should have thought to ask about a free access to the Olympus, but I just might have another chance to ask that, even if after this time they don’t really plan to let me reconsider my decision about joining them after turning it down so firmly.”

“Isn’t there nothing to worry about anymore?” Scott asked, baffled.

“Supposedly, no. I mean, ever since the beginning of this year, I live my life with the constant awareness I’m never entirely safe, so being edgy all the time is not something I can easily get rid of. But it’s not just about that- I _know_ there’s a good reason to why I don't think that's really it. Hera still isn’t approved of me, and I won’t be surprised if she’s brainstorming as we speak on a way to overcome the protection mark over Beacon Hills.”

Gale jumped then on their table, joining them.

_I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. She will not risk herself and hurt a declared Hero when it can bounce off back at her in a much more brutal way. It has been proven with other Heroes, too. You weren’t named in such a pretentious manner in vain, after all._

“Oh, yeah, I remember you used to have this strange name before you suddenly became Stiles,” Scott noted, thoughtfully. “Something like mischief, I think?”

“ _Please_ let’s not get into that now,” Stiles rubbed at his temples. “There are much better things for me to tell about, so help me to gather everyone around.”

After everyone found their seats -- while Stiles himself shared the table right in the centre only with his Father and Scott, so everyone would be able to better see him -- Stiles opened his mouth to start recounting the story of Zeus catching the sight of the great-granddaughter of Perseus, when Allison suddenly spoke.

“Before you begin, there’s something I need to tell you, that will also help to understand certain events better. Something I’ve discovered while you were gone.”

Stiles frowned, curious.

Chris put a hand on her back. “Are you sure you want to be the one to do that?”

“Yes, Dad, thanks. I can handle this.” She nodded at him, before looking back at Stiles and talking a big breath before starting. “I'm adopted. Well, on the paper. In reality, I was kidnapped.”

Considering it was just too rare to have two parents with bright eyes having a baby with dark ones, Stiles had long speculated the indirect blood connection with himself, so the adoption factor its own was not really shocking to him.

When she had brought up the kidnapping part of the story, on the other hand, his mind put two and two together in an embarrassing delay.

Stiles sighed. “Let me guess, the Mother was also an offspring of Zeus, and that’s how Gerard wanted to take advantage of that vow about the next offspring leading a great dominance. So typical of him to collect _you_ to the family, just for the chance you have some connection to Zeus.”

Gerard had stated himself that he did not give a shit about his family, and Apollo himself had not been surprised at all when he had mentioned her once to him; how could have he always forget one point when the other had been mentioned? Had he let himself be _that_ hopeful that life had not been as fucked up as his with other people he cared about?

Allison made a tell-me-about-it smile. “I’ve always known about the adoption, but I could’ve never expected to actually be genetically related in some way to them, as a part of a family of Hunters that comes from the supernatural world. Not that most of them would refer to this that way.” She rolled her eyes. “The mindset has always been that we were as human as we could be, only superior. Not that it was discussed that much, because most of the Hunters outside my family have never known about the Deities at all, and if they have, they were sure I was an offspring of Apollo because of my talent. But both of my real parents aren’t Deities, and as far as we know, divine genes are too dormant in most Demigods -- unlike cases like you, where it was stirred it up to be activated -- so I'm an ordinary human.”

“But you’ve been _trained_ by ones, and has the genes of someone who possibly survived years of the gods scattering traps throughout her life!” Stiles realized with amazement. “Whoa, it’s way better than being an actual Demigod! No wonder you got a divine level of skills that I’ve never had. Even though Heather is much more incredible than me, without any powers or fighting experience.”

The mentioned one snorted, but Stiles truly believed in it; she was much more like his Mother than him, after all, and had survived through a Deity’s abuse without a way to fight against it.

“Anyway,” Allison continued, “like my Dad, my Mum -- my adoptive Mum -- was also an offspring of Zeus, but was wounded during an encounter, so she couldn't get pregnant.” Stiles was impressed that she didn't feel uncomfortable at all to mention the reason for the injury next to all the Werewolves that were around, not even when some of them demonstratively reacted to it. “Then Hera told Gerard about the twin pregnancy, and that was how he started to blackmail some of the Hospital’s employees.”

Stiles frowned. “ _Twin_ pregnancy? Don’t tell me the other baby…”

She suddenly smirked a strange, unreadable smile. “No, the other baby is alive and well. But there’s a reason to why he didn’t kill him, of course. And this reason was his complete _other_ Father than mine.”

She let Stiles time to process, but it made so little sense to him that it felt like it was a futile attempt.

“It’s okay that you don’t understand, because it’s a phenomenon that’s not very heard of,” she elaborated, “but it is possible to have a twin pregnancy where each of the twins comes from a different father, when an egg is being fertilized within 72 hours after the first one was. It was found out following cases where the twins looked the exact opposite of one another, or where one of them have a feature which is completely unlike any of the parents. So that was how I was brought up by another man, even after the pregnancy with the original baby had already started.”

“Whoever are behind all that mess, I have to find their names, just to make sure we don’t have those bustards at our hospital anymore,” Melissa said angrily.

“My… original Mother,” Allison went on, “was later told I died shortly after they took me out of the delivery room, while in reality I was immediately moved away from here. But it was inevitable that we would have to return to Beacon Hills one day, with all the supernatural incubator that this place is, so they decided to change my birthday's date so my _real_ Father would not suspect. I stayed at home until the age of two and a half, before I was put in a nursery school where I was treated as someone who just had her third birthday a couple of months prior, even though I was exactly nine months younger than the date they decided as my birthday. There was no problem to believe to it since I’ve developed fast, and that was the date I've always believed to be my birthday.”

“So, you're _not_ a year above us?” Scott picked up the less important details, as usual.

Allison covered her face with embarrassment, like she could not realize how could have she ever had someone like him as her first love.

Stiles then started to wonder on the great difference between the dates. Nine months was a period of time like another pregnancy, but why not just say she was born on a different date of the same month?

In addition, nine months also meant she had been born in October, and Stiles knew plenty of people in their age who had been born on that month, so it was not that much suspicious if Allison was told to also be born at that time. After all, it was a specific fact that he had always been too aware of know, as someone who also-

Stiles' eyes widened at once, almost getting completely out of their sockets.

But that was not possible. The fact she had been the one to be taken by Gerard’s orders was one thing, but _this_ was a detail that was just impossible to Stiles to miss; in what universe would he fail to notice when someone having the same features as his _own_ _parents_? He saw his Father every day, and spent so much time looking at his Mother’s picture and memorizing her face, that every time he ran through someone on the street with as much as the same chin as theirs-

And then again, Allison had been his best friend's object of love. Loyalty was everything to him; it was even _less_ like him to look. Even when he had checked on her closely, at times he had had to make sure she had not been hurt- he had never let his eyes track anything else unnecessarily.

All that had mattered to Stiles when it came to Allison's look had only been the lack of weapons being carried on her or directed at Scott; even when he had not had his eyes exclaves for Lydia, Allison had been forbidden for him to lay his eyes at, just like a relative.

All in all, it was wrongful for him to observe her too seriously to also think of that strong jaw which carried her soft face, with that earthly-grounding brown shade of eyes of a high-minded soul, which were accompanied by a long, thin nose and a brilliant, playful smile…

Fuck, all of these was _just_ like his Parents. Even though he had been the one to tell himself to act blind, how _could_ he ever miss that? Had he not wanted that hard to believe there was a lucky child out there to have the honour to be the biological child of both of these remarkable human beings?

“Both Claudia and I have always believed she was dead, like the very luckily alive Allison said,” his Father explained, sharing a short smile with Allison before looking back at Stiles, “and we preferred to never mention it ever again. We thought she was Zeus’ child, too, and never guessed that something like _that_ could have happened. Not with the two whole days that had passed between the night Zeus came to her and my return.”

Stiles observed his Father’s eyes, trying to imagine what they would have looked like if they were brown, and-

Oh, gods, _how had he never noticed_?!

Gale, who sat on his table, stood up and moved a little to catch his attention.

_I didn't know you weren't aware of your twin, so when we talked, I preferred to not mention her unless you would bring her up yourself. I was not there during the birth, as you already know, so that horrible crime was committed right under my nose. If only I was there --_

“ -- You can trust me that there’s nothing you’ve done or haven’t done that day that you should feel guilty about even the slightest,” Stiles assured her. “She’s alive, and either way she would have ended up in a tough, complicated family, so everything’s fine.” Stiles turned to Allison. “I mean, everyone should have the right to decide for themselves whether they should grow up with their biological family or not, unless it’s really for their own good, but -- ”

“ -- Yeah, you’re right,” Allison cut him in, fortunately right before he started tangling his point, “but I’m happy either way. I now have two wonderful Fathers, and even a _Brother_ , even if he’s a little handful.”

Everyone laughed, while Stiles pretended to be hurt.

It was truly amazing how someone as brilliant as her, who had shared the same charm and awesomeness of Wonder Woman, had not been brought to life from clay by Zeus, but had shared the same womb with him.

“Believe me, you have _no idea_ what’s waiting for you,” Scott patted on his shoulder.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “Dude, you're my bro... And you've dated my _Sister_.”

“Is that wrong to you?” Scott looked earnestly regretful.

“Oh, no! Don't make me _that_ guy!” Stiles hurried to wave his hands recantingly. “It was just a joke!”

“Besides, _I’m_ the older sibling.” Allison sent Stiles a cheeky grin. “You don’t get to be over-protective over me anyway.”

As much as Stiles was thrilled that they were starting a sibling rivalry already -- not that he knew a lot about it, but from her smile, it sure seemed to be that way -- and he could not let her win this one.

“The only reason you got through first was because an outside involvement! I was the one who was supposed to go first!”

“And then _you_ had to be the one to be forced into the responsibility of a leader,” Lydia pointed out.

“Oh, thank _goodness_ it didn’t happen.” Jackson released a relieved laugh -- too honest, in Stiles’ opinion -- which was followed by an approved humming by Isaac.

Stiles claimed. “Let’s all agree that there nothing desirable on any scenario, although I _do_ beg the differ about the claim that anything could have made this town even more of a substantive ticking bomb. Seriously, isn’t amazing how long it took for everything to heat up the way it did, and even more crazy how we only needed less than a year to put at least most of the fires off? We all deserve a hundred more parties for this. I mean, the son of the one who created the Werewolves is a Brother of a _Hunter_ , who dated a _Werewolf_ , who works for a _Titan_ , who -- ”

“ -- Wait, _what_?” Scott exclaimed in puzzlement, unfortunately too close to Stiles’ ear.

“So now that I’m half _deaf_ ,” he glared at the one sitting _right_ next to him, “I think it’s a great point to get back to the main issue. Not that this was an unwelcome postponement, but I’ll save everything else that is left to tell for later. I want to first get this story over with.”

Telling the entirety of the turn of events was a lot nicer this time, comparing to the other ones: not only but it was an occasion where he had talked about everything just for the sake of letting them know the whole picture, and not under the pressure of some kind of an obligation, but he was also sitting along with people who had been in many of them with him, and so a lot of times there was someone to help him whenever he got lost or skipped important details- especially when he had to rush over the parts of Peter as the Alpha and the Kanima.

And sometimes needless additions, too, as in the case with the Drag Queens- although their Labour luckily only drew exclaims and a relatively minimal amount of embarrassing comments.

But more than everything it was Erica and Boyd who made him feel pleased, as they took part in it too and shared some details regarding the encounters with the Alpha Pack. He was in no position to be proud of them, but he still let himself feel excited about them being able to talk with strangers about their time as hostages.

Of course, speaking about anything that had to do with Gerard had not been easy with the three Betas there, but none of them was staring at him during those parts or reacted in any way, whether to test how he would represent the subject in his words, or because it was they had to focused that hard to stay loyal to the promise they had made to their Alpha.

And as much as he had to catch them all right after that to settle it properly, he had to first confess it to everyone else so no one would continue to judge them any longer.

And so, when Stiles finished the chronicle of his life at long last, all the way to the point they were at the moment- he mentioned that there was one last thing they should all hear before they headed home; something that chronology fitted to be told way earlier, but had had to be saved for this point, as it was not just an occurrence, but something that had a continued effect on the present.

He only hoped he had not impressed anybody too much to develop a wrong view of him, and to not become as uncomfortable as they should be with this.

“When I talked with Zeus for the first time, at a rare moment where he wasn’t being a…” he glanced quickly at his Father, knowing he would probably not appreciate swear words from him, even those of described someone who deserved it. “Um, well, an _evil_ person, he told me one last thing I didn’t know about Gerard’s doings with Hera, something maybe even worse than those mutants at the Canary Islands. So, if you thought Allison was going to be the one to drop the biggest bomb this evening, think again. Especially as this one does _not_ have a happy ending.”

“If it’s about Derek, then it’s only fair _we_ will tell it,” Isaac suddenly spoke up, breaking his long-whiled silence before the two others could stop him. “We mostly heard _your_ versions of that story, so this one should be told by his Betas first.”

Stiles could not find a reason to reject, although he knew it might be even harder for him this way.

“Sure, go ahead,” he swallowed.

Isaac eyed him suspiciously, perhaps even disapprovingly, even while getting a free stage to state whatever he wanted.

From his words, Stiles assumed that Isaac had agreed to give him the benefit of the doubt, but Stiles had described some of his deeds in a way that had made him look like the cool person he was not, and so he could not trust him any more to do justice with his Alpha’s background.

He did not seem to buy his regretful attitude, either, which was why he refused to give Stiles a chance to show his sorrow by admitting his part in the cause behind the fire.

“You see,” he started in an ironic tone, shifting to sit more casually. “Hera probably got bored of heroes who win it all while having the classic backstory of growing up orphan, so she decided to skip a few steps ahead and get rid of the one who usually gives the hero the final boost to the finish line or whatever, like this was the cleverest option left after she was proven wrong over and over again by using the people to already play with their natural stupidity.”

“Isaac,” Erica put a hand on his shoulder, but he nudged her off.

“Anyway, she checked and found out that the Hale family was going to be the perfect one for this, as the protectors of the town. Turns out that the part of the family that died was supposed to be a guiding key for him, while Derek, Laura, Cora and Peter were supposed to have the least impact on him- or maybe they could only have impacted him in the most negative way, I dunno. Point is, she told that to Gerard, and what do you know- this was the exact blessing he needed to let himself burn away such a strong pack as them.”

Silence prevailed- the heaviest that had been thus far. No one commented under their breath, nor whispered thoughts to another; no one was even able to swallow.

That wordless shock that everyone shared only made Stiles’ reaction to seem louder than it was.

“What are you talking about?” His voice was shuddering.

“What, did I ruin your better, _nicer_ version? Did the pretty image you’ve built of yourself for that last hour get crushed too easily?”

Suddenly his face winced, at the same time as Erica shifted uncomfortably next to him; Stiles wondered if she had done something under the table to silence him- but why did she seem distressed as well, then?

Unless it was _Isaac_ who had chosen to let himself believe anything as long as it made Stiles appearing bad in some way, and Erica was able to not buy that version, no matter how Derek had been able to tell a lie as heavy as that to a group of Werewolves.

How had he been _capable_ to, though? How could he have tried to convince them with a story where it was _him_ not being good enough in Hera’s eyes, and showing her being afraid of something positive like the ultimate protection over the town?

“He lied,” he turned back to Isaac, who rolled his eyes in return.

Isaac made a disparaging sound. “Of course he did.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Stiles wanted to shout at him, but the weight of guilt hurt his chest too much. “He was afraid that you’d harm me before I end my Labours if he told you the truth, and I won’t be surprised if that’s why he took Cora away, too. But the real thing was worse, _much_ worse.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever gets you the more puppy eyes.”

“I’m _serious_ , Isaac.” Stiles’ tone got more breathlessly the more the situation frustrated him. “I… Of course I don’t prefer any option better, but what you said has some logic that the real one doesn’t, and isn’t necessarily related to me, or to my…” he made a weak half a smile as he continued to talk in a self-mockingly tone, “ _personal preferences_.”

The last words were enough to shut Isaac from his next remark, and he finally looked at Stiles attentively.

Stiles played with his joined hands on the table, fixing his gaze on them. “Hera found out about a… _possibility,_ between Derek and me. Instead of doing the classic move and just kill him, like you said, she decided to make both of us suffer a tragedy as a punishment, and drove him away from here by having his family experiencing such a great disaster. All because of a _possibility_.” He shook his head helplessly.

“A possibility for _what_?” Isaac pressed him to go on, impatient.

“In Zeus’ words,” he breathed, “our hearts match.”

The same perfect silence from before continued, only this time it was hard to break it even for the most sarcastic of the group.

However Derek had convinced his Beta on that lie- it was good enough to prevent them from launching on Stiles that very moment, like he had expected, as they probably were shocked to hear the steady beat -- even if quick -- of his heart.

“But it’s not your fault that she was wrong.” Scott was the one to break what felt like the pause of time, although with the wrong thing to say. “At least she didn’t know about Lydia.”

Stiles snorted softly, bitterly, _painfully_ , and did not dare to look at the direction of the girl in question. “There's no _at least_ here, Scott. _No one_ should have gotten hurt, period. I didn’t tell you that so you could say bullshit that is not right in any way. But that aside, you also have to accept this: even though there’s way any other female in the _entire_ world will have something better to offer for me than Lydia Martin, it was ever meant to be the ultimate thing for me. Aphrodite chose him for a reason, even if I myself dared to deny it in the beginning.”

“Oh,” Scott murmured with awkwardness.

Stiles could feel Lydia’s gaze on him. He could have never imagined her looking at him so intensely like that, even when he had fantasized about them together, but could not deny that he could have never been happier in any other kind of relationship than the one they had now.

“I can’t blame you for being surprised, I know it’s all out of the blue.” Stiles rubbed at his face. “It’s just that…”

Feelings were not something Stiles could think as false once understanding them, but after ranting to Scott about Lydia for so long, Stiles suddenly understood how hard it was to make someone else grasp the idea of him being attracted to someone more than he had ever been to her.

It was hard to explain to him that while it was a victory for him, whenever Stiles had managed to bring a smile up Lydia’s lips -- an achievement to collect his dearest memories -- it did not quite give the same effect of that warm feeling of _bliss_ inside of him like it had happened whenever he had been able to do the same with Derek.

It also would be too unbelievable for Scott to hear about how, in addition, her mere look had never affected his heart to act as crazily as staring at Derek’s eyes had; Lydia had a kind of green eyes which he wanted to watch for hours long as their shade mesmerized him, while Derek’s were something he could never _dare_ to look too deeply at for long, les he would be absorbed. Only imagining them in his mind made him feel a tug in his abdomen.

Nonetheless, Stiles could not say that Lydia was really lacking with something: she argued with him enough to satisfy his need to be challenged, as he enjoyed his attempts to reach her level and be equal to her -- even if her popularity had slightly reduced, ever since some incidents which had created idiotic rumors about her, although, with her intelligence and promptness, she would always be a few leagues above all of them, whether they wanted or not -- but, for one reason or another, he had found more passion in the debates and bickering he had had with Derek, to the point he had believed that the platonic love he had had for him could have alone been enough to suffice and heal his heart.

Furthermore, even before getting a place of respect in his pack, Derek had talked to him with their age difference been barely felt. Their connection had the ability to thrill Stiles while keeping him in his comfort zone, with rarely feeling anxious and trouble himself while going out of his way.

All those thoughts flood him out of the back of his mind, after he had blocked them since the day he had realized his true feelings: Lydia was great in every way, and he would always admire her and wish to have her company and attention; but Derek drove Stiles mad like no one else could, and was the balance Stiles had never thought he needed. It felt nothing like the simple teenage love story Scott had had; spending time with him in calm moments as well as going through such an intense time had proved above all that even if he could give up om such strong emotions, it would only weaken him to try and search it with anyone else, as no one _was_ like Derek to fit them to.

But how could this still be relevant, now that he knew that some had found them desirable for each other so much, that it inspired the death of Derek’s family in a great deal?

They would never be able to look at each other again, probably. There was no point to think about that.

“It's just that,” he eventually found the words to say back to Scott, “I was expected to get this… _ultimate_ hero ending, you know? I made sure everyone would remain alive and well, and assured their safety from inhuman danger within the town in the future. Hera did her best to prevent me from succeeding at any of those goals, but more than anything, she couldn’t have me getting what she has never had; getting the ‘girl’ is an important part of the whole package, as you may know. So, she made sure to find who I’m going to be stuck on for the rest of my life, and as unlikely as the answer maybe- he’s more than just the one to drive me to fight hard enough to develop -- unknowingly to me -- the abilities to be a hero in the first place.”

“So you’re saying that,” Isaac looked like he tried very hard not to laugh, “if someone told you:  _here are my fifty beautiful daughters, they’re all horny as fuck for you after you saved us, I let do whatever you wish with them,_ you’ll actually say:  _no_ _thank, their heart wasn’t approved for me, talk to me later when they start to die_?”

Stiles rubbed his face. “I know it’s all absurd, like a fairytale gone wrong, but it’s just like the day I randomly started to almost beat the life out of you, just like I _had_ done with my guitar teacher. If someone is mad enough to turn someone into something like that, then it’s not that much of a hard work for them to turn more the loose screw in Kate’s head.”

Isaac rose an eyebrow, skeptical. “What I think to be absurd here is that your hearts don’t match in the meaning of pure enemies, even more than Kate was for him, and that you want to have Derek to test that theory out.”

“I _don’t_!” Stiles persisted, clenching his fits under the table. “I told you, I don’t want any kind of comfort. I’ve done everything for all of you, so you’ll have a safe place to be at when I move away from here next year, and it will be too for Derek, and the partner of his choosing.”

“What are you talking about, Stiles?!” Heather interjected. “After everything, you didn’t only prove that no Deity can take what you fight for away from you, but that you _both_ deserve the comfort. And when you saved us, you also saved him, along with his family’s honour, when you proved that witch of a Deity wrong.”

He heard some more voices of agreement from the rest of the tables, but ignored them.

“And what do you think _he_ feels about all of this?” Stiles now _had_ to look back at the one who suggested there was nothing to feel guilty about. “Heroes are supposed to _bring_ salvation to their chosen one, not to _be_ their salvation by being with them, like that's what can save them from a distress that already happened- both to his past pack and his current one.”

“It sure had been _like a ghost town_ lately,” Erica suddenly said, smiling strangely. “No one wonders on the streets anymore, it's almost like everyone could feel how _the darkness_ was coming. And you were our little _Dålig Ulv_.”

Erica's last statement was a huge _Doctor Who_ reference; what means would she choose to use it for, though? And why would she talk in such a casual tone?

“Yeah,” he stretched out the word, and narrowed his eyes at her. “Even though I didn't fight something that could always come back, like the Daleks.”

“But you did have someone as amazing as the Tardis to lead you through, right? The power boost that it'll give you to reach to his heart is something that the Deities themselves are afraid of.”

It was the mention of the heart that had finally cleared to him what she was trying to lead him to, and he sighed.

“Yes, in some way, him being forced to escape all the way to New York was like being separated by parallel universes, just like with the Doctor and Rose, happy now? But unlike Rose, it wasn’t for his own good. And like the original hatred toward me has split between us to begin with- now I actually deserve it, when it comes from him.”

“Stiles,” Heather argued on, now that he returned to the previous subject. “You can’t just make up opinions for others!”

“Well, do you see him here right now? Even if his absence doesn’t speak for itself, what do you think he'd say if he were here?”

“Why aren't you asking him yourself?”

Stiles frowned at Erica’s mysterious smile until he noticed, from the corner of his eye, a figure which was coming out to light -- literally -- out of the woods.

His heart stopped.

“Stiles,” Lydia said slowly, in a careful tone, “I know you listed only the people you're comfortable with, so if you don't want anyone else to be a part of this- ”

Stiles’ legs cut her off as they decided for his own sake and made him stand up -- even if he almost stumbled, classically -- and it was probably done in a way that was good enough for Lydia to calm her concerns away.

It was Derek; it was actually _Derek_ standing there and Stiles could not stop staring at him, forgetting about everyone else’s presence as though they were in the middle of an empty street, just like the reunion scene from _Doctor Who_ Erica had hinted at.

Once the other man finally raised his head forward, his eyes grew bigger as they met with those of Stiles, and his whole body softened at once as though he could at last release the breath that he had been holding in.

Something in his expression made Stiles recalling that one time he had stopped to pet a dog who had wandered on his own in the streets, when suddenly he had recognized a kid of his owning family: he still remembered how his ears had stretched up at once and pointed right at the direction of the kid, while its little nose darting instinctively to ensure the scent was familiar. The sight of Derek’s behaviour at that moment was just too sweet to not compare it to that puppy, even if he did not have any canine-like features at that moment, or a wagging tail.

How could have he ever denied the adorableness that was Derek Hale?

Some kind of a fantastic warmth started to flow from the centre of Stiles’ chest, tingling all the way to the tip of his fingers. It was a burst of feeling that he had not felt for months now- mostly because he had barely _felt_ anything in the emptiness that had been eating his insides since the last day they had met. It was such a heavy kind of heat that his head felt like it was floating -- probably from the air he had exhaled at once at the sight of Derek -- and was the only thing that had pushed him to get up from his seat instead of staying there, frozen.

With every blink he tried to take that picture in all over again: Derek was there, whole and peaceful, looking at _him_ , looking at...

That was when he noticed how Derek’s eyes darted as they explored his whole body: it was not at all like the short, bottom-to-top once-over the Nymphs had given Stiles- Derek’s glance kept randomly jumping between different points in Stiles’ body, returning again and again to specific areas, like Derek wanted to be able to watch everything as long as he could, yet to still rest his gaze on the parts which intrigued him the most. Stiles licked his lips as he started feeling heated under his armour, despite the chilly night around them.

Stiles’ heart was probably doing some noticeably funny stuff, because suddenly Derek's eyes were back on him. If he was embarrassed, then he did a good job hiding it, yet he clearly was as out of words as Stiles.

“About time for someone to get out of the shadows,” Erica noted amusingly.

Derek rolled his eyes, and Stiles could not believe how naturally he could behave after hearing the whole story yet again and, well, everything that Stiles had stated _after_.

Stiles felt a blush colouring his face deeply, and was aware more than ever of being surrounded by mostly Werewolves as his heart did not listen to his pleas to slow down.

He deserved to feel any kind of bad feeling by Derek, like Derek surely experienced by looking at him- or at least _should_ have, because he did not seem to mind anything.

How was that possible? What kind of reality had Stiles come back to?

Had he died at the Olympus and not realized it yet?

“Anyway, what's Derek's trying to say is,” Erica had that smile on her face that made Stiles to forget of having any self-dignity and just run to hide somewhere far away of this too-knowing look, “We all came to the conclusion that it's not quite a good idea to keep the armour in your house, where someone may break in, either because of you or the Sheriff, and for now, out of everyone’s places, the Loft is the best option. So Derek here is going to take you right now to drop it off there, and don’t worry about changing to something else, he will also cover up for… _anything else_.”

Stiles swallowed, hard, and licked his lips again; all the blood that had covered his face a moment ago was gone at once, and he might actually faint if it would keep going like that.

He could not believe she could have come up with a kind of torture worse than throwing him to the garbage tank again.

But he had an actual reason to not let her continue with that, as his Father was _still_ right there.

“Yeah, uh-huh, of course, makes total sense.” Stiles murdered; his hand did not stay still, and always returned to scratch another part on his face. “But instead making anyone trouble for me, I think it’s for the better for me to first head home and -- ”

“ -- It's okay, son, I know what you're trying to do,” the Sheriff sighed. “But I’ve been the one who taught you to first make sure to finish all your preliminary preparations to upcoming events as soon as possible, and the armour indeed needs to be kept somewhere safe until we get a proper safe for it. Besides, I'm sure Derek made preparations himself and have found you fitting clothes to lend. He won't let you just stay without clothes like that, now will he?” He gave Derek a long, hard look.

And oh gods, that was _not_ the thing he thought his Father would have been bothered with.

Whether Derek blushed or not -- his position was not lightened enough to have his skin that clearly visible -- Stiles was doing enough for the both of them, especially with the sounds of chocked chuckles coming from some of the group.

“No, sir. Never,” Derek eventually replied, and his voice amde the insides of Stiles to swell.

Suddenly Stiles recalled hearing his Father making a tensed call while he had been walking out of the shower, and had forgotten to ask him about it; he wondered if that was what it had been about.

Everything just happened too fast, too much; _What was going on?_

His Father patted on his back, as Hippolyte’s clique wolf-whistled loudly. “It’s alright, son. Go on.”

The support somehow Stiles helped the first step forward, and even the next; then it was walking instinct alone that made him have others to follow- or maybe it was something even more powerful than this, like a divine power.

If only he could use it in order to summon pockets so he could shove his hands into, as he had no clue how to gracefully let them stay steal at his sides.

Fuck his life, to think that Derek had heard _everything_.

But no, that embarrassment of Derek listening to his confession did not matter at that moment. They may be still in Beacon Hills’ territory, but even within a protected zone, Stiles knew he still should get the hell away from him; no matter what was the reason that Derek was there for, Isaac was right- they should never be in the same place at the same time, even with this huge thing that was suddenly between them.

If only the rest understood that too; he could see why the pack of Mr. Dramatic Entrances would want to help him keep his reputation, but how could have no one hinted Stiles that Derek had been around so Stiles could prepare himself better to that encounter, or at least know what to say instead of just staring right back like a dumbass?

And how could have Derek himself not known any better?

Or perhaps he had, but wanted to actually take a revenge on him and planned to take him away from his safe circle of people?

He had turned around again to look at his Father and Scott; neither of them seemed to sense anything questionable, which they would have defiantly pointed out.

And while Stiles himself had not heard a hint to forced respect in Derek’s voice when he had talked to the Sheriff, nor one of roguery or bad means- even his Father’s high, countable detective skills had not sensed anything wrong in other supernatural incidents, and Scott had not necessarily mastered the ability to read Werewolves well by that time, so Stiles’ suspicion was still relevant. For all he could know, he was too blind at that point to read the way he had been scanned by Derek’s eyes moments ago, and it had been to make sure he was not carrying any weapon on him.

Because if he knew Derek enough to fall for him that way, then he surely knew enough of his martyr complex, which was much harder than any sense of justice or pride he had; what if he planned to risk and sacrifice himself by dealing with him in some way, so Cora would not be in danger because of him anymore? To prove to Hera that there was no need to try to hurt Stiles through the Hale family ever again?

It almost made him regret leaving the Olympus; at least there Hera would really not care about Derek and his family anymore.

But he knew he had to come back for his Father, and after they had spent one last good day together- Derek deserved to have his time to do whatever he wanted with him, in the name of his family.

He finally reached close enough to be able to see Derek’s features better and check him himself. His gaze seemed a lot lighter and brighter than ever, almost like he had gotten younger in a couple of years- and just positive, overall. Like something had rushed the process he had been making ever since the Alpha pack had been defeated.

To Stiles’ disappointment, his eyebrows refused to tell his true thoughts, and under them, his bright eyes looked even paler with the moonlight reflecting in them.

But most importantly, looking at Derek then, all Stiles was eager for was to protect him from the world, in any possible way. So instead of stopping all of this like there was a chance that Derek would actually let him have him in his arms, he should just follow him obediently, as it was the better, more realistic way to truly do what was the best for him.

And after seeing them closer than ever earlier that day, he could literally declare now that everything about Derek put the Greek Deities into deep shame, and for that, Stiles was willing to appease the only spirit he had faith in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/174973564661/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-16)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN YOU FEEL THE STEREK MOMENT COMING?? :D  
> Ugh, if I regret the time I had to spend on that fic, then it's because there's more plot than a focus on them, even in a fic that size :/  
> BUT WORRY NOT, BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER WILL MAKE UP FOR EVERYTHING!  
> (…hopefully ^^")

And here they were in the car again.

Only this time, Stiles’ cheeks burned so much they actually _stung_ ; what’s more, the same feeling to cause that also made him want to get out of the Camaro as desperately as at the beginning of it all, back when they had been waiting for Scott to return with the bullet to heal Derek- only this time, it was not out of fear or irritation.

The fact Derek had listened to him speaking so openly about all that he had realized about his feelings and just what Aphrodite had predicted about it was nerve-racking, and Stiles was glad his armour gave him an excuse to shift in his seat every few seconds or so, even if it surprisingly was designed in a way that it was possible to sit with it on without choking.

But if he should be embarrassed, it was for making Derek hearing all of that while knowing that _this_ was what had killed his family. Yes, it was still surreal to think about and it would always be hard to grasp in order to feel as awful about it as he should, but Stiles hated himself for almost using that as an excuse to let the little happy thing inside of him to keep dancing in celebration of Derek’s return.

But there was nothing anyway to let Derek escape the sensation of Stiles’ storms of emotions, and so he tried his best to find a way to relax instead, with no much success.

If only the drive to the Loft would have been as short as the travel to the holy city of the Deities, which Stiles had been less awed and nervous to go at as was sitting with Derek alone in the limited space of the Camaro.

There was a mutual silence between them all the way to the Loft, but just when Derek was about to park Stiles suddenly jumped in his seat.

“Oh, shit, I forgot! Can you- I mean, sorry for thinking about that only now- Fuck, it’s not even about the ADHD, I’m just _that_ idiot -- ”

“ -- Stiles.”

“Thank you,” Stiles sighed, glad his unstoppable rambling was being interrupted before his disorder actually get the better of him in the worst timing possible. “Anyway, it’s a good thing you live close to the exit of the town's boundary, because I need to get out Beacon Hills’ territory to make sure it’s really over.”

Derek did not take any moment to question it before turning the car and getting out of the lot.

They made it to the ring road, and Derek stopped the Camaro at the roadside, just a little ahead of the sign that declared of Beacon Hills’ range of authority.

Stiles squeezed his way out of the annoyingly low car and dazedly walked to the road, too focused about the matter of concern that only when Derek pulled him back to stand close to the car he realized he was about to stand in a middle of the main road at night.

He could not really blame himself for acting so hastily after working for this moment for so damn long- but the effect of the hold of Derek’s warm hand on his wrist was surprising with its impact, as it dumbfounded him enough to balance him back to thinking rationally and get him out of the trance state of impatience.

And if a disappointment was waiting for him, at least it would not feel so bad.

Swallowing, he finally raised his head, and found what he was looking for a few meters above the road.

It was the same mark that Zeus had drawn when he declared the end to Hera’s penal deeds to him: An H-like letter, with a wavy line in the middle instead of a straight one, which glowed white up in the air. It did not shine in a way that illuminated the area in any way, though, which made it clear that it was visible only for certain beings.

A car passed by them, and when it crossed under the mark- there were little ripples in the surface of the air, making anything behind the line of where the mark was placed on blurry, like when an object penetrates a pool of water. The shock affected the mostly-transparent wall enough so Stiles could see it more clearly and notice how it arched backwards the higher it expanded, like a dome wrapping the entire area ahead.

Only, no matter how long he kept staring at the sight, he could not find anything to awe him enough to get the relief to kick in at last. It was not exactly a modest exhibition to the treaty, but after all that Stiles had been through, it was not enough for him to begin to comprehend that that was really it- almost like the Deities’ fulfillment of their side of the deal was too _simple_ , in comparison to what he had had to do to fulfill his.

“What is there?” Derek asked.

Stiles frowned with confusion when he looked at Derek, whose eyes darted as though he tried to sense something he could not see. It was weird to see the Alpha being blind to something, but Stiles tried to swallow down the troubling feeling he got by that.

“There’s a wall that surrounds the whole area,” Stiles explained, looking ahead again, “and there’s the protection mark on it, a symbol that Zeus signed with when he sealed the deal. And I didn’t notice until now, but the air inside there feels kinda stuffy in comparison to here, in this side; not like it’s really hard to breathe, but something _does_ limit you in an unclear way.” He hummed, smiling to himself. “Finally, something I can show off for being able to sense that you can’t.”

“Probably because it only works for species that Zeus acknowledges,” Derek suggested. “There’s no reason for it to be seen by those it is not directed at.”

Stiles then recalled Zeus’ statement, about the mark protecting against divinity forces with _dark_ intentions- but what did _dark_ mean for the Deities? Was it really the way Stiles defined it when he had asked for that wish, or was it really only according to what Zeus himself agreed to consider it to be?

“What if it’s gonna work against me even when I try to fight a shapeshifter?” Stiles wondered shakily. “What if it’s gonna stop me from helping you and the pack or Scott when I try to fight other Werewolves from hurting any of you, who are also Werewolves that shouldn’t be protected? What if I’m not even able to help you again with the Darach, that I don’t know if the mark is even effective against, when it’s supposed to be related more to Werewolves than Titans by that point?”

And it could potentially separate others too- _Lydia_ might be taken as sinful since her powers had been awakened by a bite from Peter; fuck, even so-called humans could be out of the game by that point, as Allison might still have remains of Zeus’ blood in her, at some level.

How had he let that fulfilment pass so easily, being phased so generally and vaguely?!

And to think that that smartass Hera had been the one to pick up on the cracks which made those words easy to get through, and had whispered something else to Zeus right before Stiles had been dismissed, which was _defiantly_ related to it; even if it had saved him at that moment, it did not promise well to the other he had risked his life for to begin with,

What if she had turned Zeus himself mad and had convinced him to make it all a one big, ugly deception, so Stiles had something worse than death to expect to?

The feeling he had actually dared to believe to never feel again was attacking Stiles at full power: a terrible combination of deep loneliness and a great helplessness, like he was too little for the huge jail of the responsibility he had been born to due to his power, which he was doomed forever to be trapped in.

His heart already started to race faster and his legs felt weak, but right before he fell to the ground and right into the arms of the familiar distress, there it was again.

“Hey, you hear me? Stiles!”

Like someone had just caught him, he gravitated from his dizziness and was pulled right back to a conscious state.

But even though Derek’s hands were not holding Stiles in his place, his eyes alone were enough to do so; they had a soft gaze, instead of the intense determination which Stiles would have expected.

He was even standing right in front of him, which effectively blocked anything from distracting Stiles back into falling back to his despair.

“You don’t need your physical strength, you’ve always been more than that. Remember the Molotov cocktail you made when we faced Peter; how you crashed your Jeep into the Kanima? You even guided Werewolves to fight themselves in the worst Full Moon that will ever be in their entire lives. You’ve always had the plan, and just needed others to help you perform it; whether it’s to save the day, or to save a broken pack.”

Stiles licked his lips nervously. It was not the first time for Derek to show Stiles his gratitude, but at this point this attitude felt even more bizarre, taking everything he knew into an account.

At any case, the possibility that Derek found what he had done that day as a worthy atonement annoyed him.

“And just a day after that, I had to hurry home so you wouldn’t somehow understand that the anonymous message I got was from the very person who caused that split to begin with,” Stiles noted. “It’s because of me you can’t do something about him, without Hera taking advantage of that to make it into a declaration of war on the Olympus, or whatever they want to think Werewolves fantasize to do one day.”

Derek shrugged. “In the same way, it means that so long he’s under her, he won’t be able to hurt any of us so long you’re aside us.”

Huh, that was right; whether it is because of his Demigod bloodline or his connection to Hera, Gerard technically was considered to be someone who acted in the name of a Deity with negative intentions towards a declared hero, and so could not attack Stiles. Perhaps he could not even use his human connection to circumvent the injunction.

Stiles had never thought about how to turn it against Gerard as well, and so did not really feel more at ease with himself- but at least _that_ was something he could accept as a reasonable excuse to not tie himself to a tree outside the protected region and keep him there for monsters' heart’s desire.

“And as for the Darach,” Derek continued in a sure voice, “now that we’re through with the gods, all of us can concentrate on that together. Meaning the pack, Scott, Lydia, Allison, and you and me.”

The fact Derek still referred to them as _the_ pack next to him pinched at Stiles’ insides, but he tried not to let his show on his face. Even if Derek found passable enough reasons to be in good terms with Stiles and not just endure his presence -- which should not be that surprising, with how he had already shown crazy tolerance just by turning a blind eye on what he had done to his Sister’s grave -- this was not the place to express his great disagreement with it out loud and make Derek feel bad as well.

“Hey,” Derek called to his attention again, seeing that he had not been encouraged by points, “we’re through with _the gods_. Do you know what that means?”

Only Stiles was too tired to deal even with something less threatening than the Deities themselves, although he could not expose this whining side of him. He had let Derek see him breaking down too many times, if through a panic attack or a rage outburst, and it was not fair to make him help Stiles through it again.

Regardless, he could not believe that suddenly the one between them to try to seek positivity in ridiculous crises was _Derek_ ; but when it came to this, the truth had to be faced straight on.

“We’ll supposedly never deal with something of that extent again, as long as the other mythologies in the world aren’t real.” Stiles let him hear first what he wanted to hear, and then let himself sigh through a bitter smile. “But we’ll still know no rest, never. We’ll continuously move from one thing to the next, forever, no matter how many protections we’ll surround ourselves with. Even one made by the god-damn _gods_.”

Derek huffed, strangely, and shook his head. “You really didn’t see it right.”

Stiles stared at him questionably.

Derek moved a little bit from where he was standing in front of him, and gestured with his head ahead. “You called it a protection mark, but it can’t be- because that would make it like that of Cain, from the Old Testament. While he asked to be secured by a sign that would warn others from trying to harass him for what he had done for his Brother, you simply wished to not let anyone be able to use their powers for malice purposes inside Beacon Hills. Those are two different things.”

Stiles snorted. “Okay, fine, sorry for my honest mistake. I promise won’t call it like that anymore. But no matter what you say, we still lost an advantage. When we first faced the Darach, I’ve broken through its magic easily compared to Scott, who couldn’t even touch it, and this says something even if he’s not the most... _gifted_ Werewolf between you all. With me out of this, it might mean that we were already taken a few steps back- so much that by listening to me for once and doing this party, no one even stayed on watch.”

“Deaton did.”

Stiles tilted his head a bit backwards. “Really?”

Derek nodded. “He actually claims the opposite from you, from what I was told. He thinks that Zeus doesn’t include the Darach on the same side with Werewolves, but agreed to take part just in case.”

“Well, if he agreed to participate in something for a change, it really takes some of the stress away. Unless it’s not because he’s changed but because things are _that_ bad.”

Derek shook his head. “It doesn’t matter if the Darach can still use their power or not, because the point is, you’ve made a name for yourself, and rightfully so. _That’s_ what the mark really means: a warning, a proof that all the stories are real. The Demigod who defeated a pack of Alphas, then the _gods_ ; even if other Werewolves can’t see it, they’ll hear about your actions better than you can see whatever it is that’s drawn in the sky. With this, no one associated with you will ever be in danger even outside those borders. It’s all made possible by your human traits, and your hard work to earn something more than a personal protection mark by divine powers.”

Following their encounter and his fight with Ares, the Darach indeed had quit for a while, according to what Stiles had been told by the others. But would other packs and Hunters actually believe any of it?

Wait, no, Stiles could not let himself give up for this attempt to cheer him up. He did not deserve it.

“It can go the other way around too, and get enough attention from those who will not buy it and come to check for themselves,” Stiles insisted. “And even if we stop them, they may witness my breakdowns. Maybe that what I should have asked for, because I haven't been healed from them. What if it happens at the most critical time?”

Derek’s scowl was so deep that it almost literally made his thick eyebrows to shadow his eyes, and when he shoved his hands deep into his jacket’s pockets, it looked like he had done it hurriedly so; but before Stiles managed to understand what was it that he had just tried to repress himself from, he shook his head.

“Deucalion came him for the both of us, remember?” Derek said. “And even if it was during that time where you lost control, once we accepted your help out of everyone right after it, you helped _us_ remain in check. This kind of attention is something both of us can’t help to get because of our legacies, and is what we will continue to go through together. By supporting you, we support ourselves.”

Stiles swallowed.

Well, _that_ was a speech ability he had never expected from Derek, even if he surely had thought about it all a lot- but the tone he was delivering it with was what really made Stiles believe he was confident in his words and was not only convincing himself.

At any case, that was something Stiles could go with more or less in peace- it only meant that Derek valued what Stiles was able to bring to the table, and not blinded by his desperation.

Stiles sighed. “Let’s hope the Moirai think like you and will turn my fate of being a human magnet for trouble. Because the way Hera and Zeus agreed to my reward so easily is like they knew from the start it’s bullshit.”

“It’s true that they’re disgusted by us, they would have never listened to a wish in our favour- but even if that’s what they think, we will make sure it works in _our_ terms,” Derek argued patiently, yet he was starting to look around them. “But staying out here will really expose you for the trouble we can avoid, so let’s get back for now. Even if your halo alone will probably scare them away.”

Stiles was confused enough by the last sentence to get out of his daze. “My _what_?”

“Halo,” Derek repeated with a small smile, letting his glow red for a couple of seconds. “It grew stronger. I bet even Scott can sense it.”

It took Stiles a few seconds to understand what Derek was talking about, and the fact he was the one out of everyone to choose to use that term to describe ‘aura’ was so adorable that Stiles could not help but break in an out loud laugh.

He did not expect to be able to get loose like that so soon, especially not with Derek; but then Derek wore a kind of a baffled expression that was so _pure_ that Stiles just kept on, as it was something he probably could not resist to at any situation.

Stiles definitely was seeing him now differently than a year ago. Well, yeah, obviously it had had to happen as they got to know each other and were far from strangers, but it was one thing to not be scared of him anymore and a complete another to feel those goddamn butterflies going funky inside his body.

Hopefully, they were not like fireflies that Derek could see like he saw his aura, because everything he had heard him say at the party was already too much.

Then he sneezed, which added to Derek’s point that they stayed there long enough.

-

It was still possible that Derek had managed to be brainwashed by the Darach somehow, that he kept acting so nonchalantly and supportive of Stiles despite anything that screamed how wrong it was- but that just meant that everyone else had to be as well, and that thought was the only thing that made it reasonable for Stiles to voice out more issues which had troubled him and had kept to himself until that moment.

It may still not be his place anymore to discuss anything that had to do with Derek’s pack, but they were all much more than someone’s Betas for Stiles at this point, and with the tension fading down, he could not keep the concern to himself any longer.

“Where’s Cora?” He asked as soon as Derek brought them into the borders of Beacon Hills again.

“Peru,” Derek answered rather quickly, even though they were talking about his Sister who was away from him again. “I thought you’d hear about her, since you took part in the Eleusinian Mysteries.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth repeatedly in confusion, and Derek just checked him for a moment with a huff before he continued.

“Back when I told you there were answers in your name, I did it for a reason. Even if I didn’t know the case with the same with Cora, or even that her name is also Greek.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “ _Of course_ it is. Why would it even be of any other origin? At least hers is normal even in the modern-time States, though. Oh, that reminds me that I once searched for yours. Way at the beginning, I mean; I wondered if you know the meaning, but I forgot to ask.”

“A ruler,” Derek nodded. “But as far as I know, it was chosen by my Father and not because of its meaning. It’s my middle that showed a purpose, like yours: Skylar; a scholar. Rather than a ruler, I was supposed to serve as the knowledgeable one in the pack, like Peter.”

Stiles stared at him in terror. “You were supposed to be equal to _Peter_?”

Derek shrugged. “He used to be my mentor. Thankfully I didn’t manage to get approved by him too much so he gave up on me eventually.”

“Thankfully indeed,” Stiles murmured in agreement.

“Cora, in the other hand,” Derek went on, “was called by a designation that made our Mother so proud that she didn’t want it hidden at all. The actual meaning is ‘a maiden’, but it’s also the ancient name of the goddess Persephone.”

That fact really caught Stiles with surprise; even if he had been a little too out of it to see her, or anyone else who had watched his fight with Cerberus, he was sure the mentioned Deity had been there at that time as well.

Those crazy coincidences in his lives would be the death of him one day.

But how was Cora related to the Eleusinian Mysteries and the Underworld to begin with? Even her personality was not as much dark as intimidating, although it may explain why she had already been a distant kid during their elementary school days.

“If you figured it by now,” Derek continued after letting Stiles thinking about it for a bit, “then yes, after her birth she was found fitted to be a part of the cult of Eleusis.”

“The cult is assembled by _Werewolves_?” Stiles tried to recall the little number of faces he could pick from his memory of the people who worked at Eichen House, but he had not been sober enough at that time either to notice enough signs for them not being humans.

“Most of the members in the different branches of it throughout the world are humans, but the high circle of it are all Werewolves. While the low ranks deal with the preparation toward death and the worship of it, the high circle focuses on the reception itself, and by that deal with those who welcome the deads, and with one of them in particular, which you also know well.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “You don’t mean…”

Derek had a closed-mouth smirk, presumably glad to finally be in the know properly again. “After the fire, she’s been raised by a pack of my family’s relatives in South America, but they also knew that one day she will have to follow the one who’s saved her from early death: Cerberus.”

Stiles sank back into the seat, and felt like lowering it backwards just for the dramatic effect.

But they were also touching a sensitive issue, so he should not treat it in a self-centred manner like the universe was only laughing at him once again.

“Persephone herself is his owner,” Derek explained on, “but there are chosen Werewolves whose job is to treat him daily. They were born with a special spiritual spark that let them communicate and connect with him in a way that only creatures with canine instincts can- it is a secretive title, mysterious even more than Emissaries, but those who are a part of it have a big reputation. Cora was the same, and our Mother has planned to take care of her and let her have a normal childhood before giving her away.” Derek’s tone turned low as he was starting to talk more directly about their family’s disastrous turn-point. “Then the fire happened, and when Cerberus broke with her through the Mountain Ash barrier, Peter somehow joined them and was saved as well, though already been burnt critically. But it doesn't seem like he remembers it himself.”

“It’s unbelievable how lucky that bastard is.” Stiles shook his head. “And I can’t believe that time with Hecate was not really that rare, once-in-a-lifetime occasion where a Deity agreed to get involved with Werewolves in any way. They are more hypocrite that I thought.”

“Cora’s pack told me a little about it: we are considered a taboo because we were created by Zeus to be naturally merciless toward any creature we encounter, and cursed to have a tough fate no matter how undercover we’ll try to live our lives. But like they are disloyal to each other, they are the same with their own opinions when it comes to their need. Almost all of them had to acknowledge our advantages at one point or another, but only Hecate, Persephone and Hades had done so for pure reasons.”

Stiles sighed. “No wonder the only approvable gods spend most of their time in the Underworld, as away from the Olympus as possible. To think they seriously asked me to join a group of duplicitous like them. It worked in our favour when he let Hecate guiding me to the Werewolves I was after, so that was the only thing that makes it worth it when he kept ignoring every time a god had to interfere with my life. But it’s still funny how he had been the classic Father in all those fairytales, who let the Monster-in-law take care of me.”

“Cora thought the same about the gods, which was why she planned to run away from her duty by coming here, once she heard about a Hale Alpha. Nevermind that she was rescued again by Cerberus when a Hunter almost managed to kidnap her, and that even before she has made it out of Peru.”

Something about Peru _did_ sound familiar to Stiles in relation to the whole thing, although he could not connect it in any way to either his conversations with Athena or his little memories of Eichen House.

Derek glanced at him briefly after a short pause. “What is it?”

“I try to remember where I also heard about- oh, wait, oh _gods_!” Stiles may have slapped his thigh in realization a little too hard, but he was too mind-blown to care about it. “Danny! Danny was in Peru with that guy, Pyrus, and they tried to get someone to- ”

Okay, that _might_ be too much information for Cora’s Brother to hear, and the last thing Danny needed at the moment was to deal with an Alpha’s interrogation- who he probably had only realized to not be Stiles’ cousin, Miguel.

So, when Derek looked at him confused, Stiles just cleared his throat.

“Well, let’s just say I met her kidnapper in the Underworld, and he is still being properly punished for that as we speak. And Danny knows him too, but _not_ because he has anything to do with Hunters or Werewolves. Athena herself confirmed it. I don’t really know how much he even knows about everything, besides what Jackson perhaps told him.”

Derek was surprised by that, but then huffed. “I was worried the kidnapper was still roaming free, because Cora herself is not sure what happened after she was drugged and was left in an ally, but count on you to take care of that mystery without even trying. You’ll need that talent a lot more from now on, now that you have a Sister yourself to worry about.”

It was Stiles’ turn to check Derek with surprise; after all, it was an _Argent_ they were talking about.

Well, if this connection somehow would help to the two sides to be tolerant towards each other’s title and have an excuse to work together peacefully, then Stiles was the first to accept this new turn of event, as strange and unexpected as the source to it was.

As for Stiles himself, though, it did not really feel like something had changed. It would take much more time and a few awkward dinners for the idea to really sink in, but he had cared deeply about Allison before as a person, and if she had given him enough of a reason to let her get into his heart even before she had become his half-Sister- then the most important thing was that seeing her as family could actually come naturally, and no emotion had to be forced.

And as troubling as having a new family member all of a sudden sounded- at least it meant that his Father had been added with one too, and the all three of them -- and damn, it had been long since he had last could say that – had each other to comfort and warm the heart despite the huge hole in it caused by the old family they had to say goodbye to, which was great.

The only inconvenience thing about all of this was, of course, Chris. They could not leave him on his own when they knew from the first experience what having only one more left living with them felt like, but this would still take a lot more time to work out.

“I hope it means things will be different here by the time she comes to visit again,” Stiles said eventually. “For someone who gets captured so much, Allison could teach her a trick or two of Hunters on how to get away.”

Derek’s light face returned to their default scowl at that, and Stiles was seriously angry with himself for causing that. “She didn’t take the story about the Argents and the fire as good as me, even with the addition of the gods’ involvement in this. The Alpha Pack only made things worse to her when the captured her from the very steps of our old house, after catching my relatively fresh scent there; when Lydia brought me there to revive Peter, I missed her maybe by a day. Beacon Hills is not a place she should come back to without the right reason- it’s the reason to why she struggled to find her Anchor during the Full Moon even while being more trained than both Boyd and Erica. Whatever she’ll decide about the cult, until I’m the stable, experienced Alpha that she needs- she’s better with the other pack, even if they’re all the way in South America. I met them, they’re all good people and they treat her right.”

As annoying as she was, Stiles knew he was going to miss Cora. But mental health in his eyes was the biggest priority, and so he was happy for the both of them for finding the best solution for this. It was even better than nothing was final, Derek was surely the type that had the perfect patience to go through as long of a flight – or even a _drive_ , if necessarily -- as was necessary for this distance between their homes.

In any case, having her afar was sure as hell better than her previous status of _gone_.

But the mention of Cora’s new-old pack brought Stiles back to the thing which bugged him the most.

“I’m glad that you had the chance to check that so you could return here with a peace of mind, but why did you leave the rest behind? It’s okay if you needed your privacy with your Sister, but with all the mess that was going on -- ”

“ -- we both left because I realized both of us near you could have put everyone in more danger.”

... _Oh_.

Well, okay.

It made perfect sense, as Stiles’ mere existence put any Hale in a serious danger, which could have potentially hurt their surroundings in the long run; the Gigante alone had proven that quite well.

Taking all that into an account, no wonder that blending among a cult which took care of the Underworld’s guardian surely kept them both maximally protected from Hera’s wrath, perhaps even more than the current shielded Beacon Hills.

Stiles had been wondering that whole time why Derek had acted almost indifferent to everything that had been revealed during their last talk, but it was a much wiser choice to just run away as fast as possible from Stiles -- and let the problem to hopefully be resolved on its own -- rather than wasting time thinking of the best way to get rid of him.

“But why did you tell them to watch over me?” Stiles asked when he recalled finding the trio waiting outside the neglected bank’s building the night he had returned there for the Gigante. “Being close to me was dangerous with or without you. Just ask Scott on how many times he and Lydia have been attacked within 24 hours just by sharing the same space with me again.”

They entered once again into the parking lot of Derek’s building, and it was only during that time that Stiles noticed his Jeep was parking there, as Derek stopped the car right next to it.

It dumbfounded Stiles, how everything all of a sudden was just so... _convenient_.

The world did not work like that; even before this hell of a year, things had not just gone in his way, the way that was the best for his personal motives.

“We took any needed precautions,” Derek brought him back to their topic of discussion. “But after everything, you should know better than to not expect us having your back.”

Stiles breathed heavily, trying to hold in the need to snap, before turning to face Derek again.

“What’s the point if what I was doing that entire time was to make sure I won’t put anyone in more troubles than those who can’t be avoided? If anything, it could have _failed_ me.”

Derek did not seem to have any doubts at all. “. It’s the same as it has been with the Hydra: even if you found a way to overcome it, you might have collapsed before you could have continued to your next Labour. We preferred to risk everything and deal with the consequences later, even if it means utter chaos. It’s the same spot you put yourself against the Alphas, in the day of the rescue, and the same truth you’ve tried to make me face when I tried to limit your involvement in the search after Boyd and Erica. Now you can understand why it was hard for me to let you in.”

Stiles swallowed hard, but even while being aware that their positions were ironically swapped, he was still angry.

Derek had probably come well prepared for this exact scenario of an argument, but even if Stiles could not think of anything to counter those words with, he stubbornly refused to accept the fact they had a similar mindset at the end of the day, and that this was why Derek had seriously given him an option to be a part of his pack, even after he could start being selective about it.

He closed his eyes, and opened them after a while just to be able to look at his hands; he counted ten fingers in total, with five in each palm, but it still did nothing convince him from stop seeing this surreal situation as a dream.

“Stiles?”

He clenched his hands. “It’s nothing, just… These entire two months, have you honestly never checked on Gerard even once?”

Stiles did not want to seem like he did not trust Derek, but it really was _that_ much unobvious thing to be able to avoid.

And also, probably -- mostly -- because Stiles could not imagine what he himself would have done to hold himself for so long, while not even knowing when it would be over.

When he faced Derek again, the latter looked like he understood why it was hard for Stiles to accept that, but had not found his restraint as something really impressive.

“No, I haven't,” he replied. “I had my Sister and my Pack to worry about, and even now it’s too late. Chris told Scott he has been reported missing ever since the night you were taken to the Olympus.”

It was frustrating to hear it on Derek’s behalf, of course, but it was not the only reason for why it made Stiles feeling his throat getting dry.

It was not the Gerard being smart enough to run right after being done with his duties to Hera- it was Stiles himself who had driven him away, without letting him get what he deserved.

And even if it was dark to think something like that, Stiles could not help his needs for resentment.

“Are you disappointed?” He asked after another moment of silence.

Derek shrugged. “He did what he’s done for the sake of power- he wanted to prove himself worthy to Hera, and with the Kanima he wanted an additional power. But now, that he has lost everything he had, there’s nothing left of his honour. Even Allison is not his anymore to take advantage of her blessing, and the mutants island you went to. The peak in his life that he has looked for went the other way around. Cora came to understand that too, and that’s how I managed to stop her too from breaking into his room.”

Stiles could understand why he would want to convince _Cora_ that this was what he thought about the issue, as she could have done something risky- but why just giving up on it anyway?

“So, you’re telling it’s actually behind you now?” He pressed.

When Derek looked down as well, Stiles felt more at ease, now believing that he would not have said anything like that because of a hidden motive.

Stiles would have understood if he had not wanted to share the reason, but giving an answer like that about his feeling regarding this -- even if it was clear Stiles was not the first one to hear that declaration, as Derek had not taken any time at all to phrase it -- was not something he could just hear and move on himself, without making sure it really was the best decision Derek could make at that moment, even if he had to push him out of his comfort zone for doing so.

Derek took a big breath before looking at him again. “Everything a little more complicated after all that Peter has done, and is still trying to do.”

Well, he really had no right to question it, considering Laura’s death by the own Uncle was mixed in this whole mess of outsiders massacring his family, and then his new pack. It must have complicated the whole world for him even more than what Stiles had felt like ever since learning about the existence of the Olympus and his connection to it.

He wished he could give something stable for Derek to hold on into; something that the weird way the world appeared to work in accordance to would never spoil.

Or at least something to guarantee that Peter would be stopped for good, because _come on_.

“Gods, that guy just did not know when to quit.” Stiles groaned. “What _now_?!”

Derek pointed with his head toward the building. “Let’s continue the talk in the Loft, so we can get you out of that armour already.”

-

As they made their way into the building, Derek told him shortly about how Peter had been arrested following being caught looming suspiciously next to the hospital room where the comatose Deucalion had been kept in -- who afterwards had been moved to another one outside Beacon Hills, where he would be watched closely by the FBI -- which Derek had warned the Sheriff about in advance, right after the fight with Deucalion. Since then, Peter had been released with a restraining order, but the pack had kept an eye on him.

It was an important information, as Peter was obviously a troublemaker to always be wary and aware of -- as his acts would never _peter out_ \-- but the moment Stiles and Derek were surrounded by reflective walls inside the lift, which emphasized the situation of the both of them together by letting him actually _see_ that wherever he turned to, and Stiles became too absent-minded to be able to stay attentive.

Even back when Derek had only meant danger for Stiles, spending time with him had felt much more natural than this situation, where he was supposed to be the best lover Derek could ever have had.

Not that he would expect a decent match Derek’s to not be complicated: after all, there was the whole pack which was included in the package; it took a certain type of personality and life-experience to always understand where his stubbornness was coming from and how to handle it; to let him come down on you and know to enjoy it, but remember he was giving the same treatment to himself all the time in his head, and that the way to silence those voices was by a very thoughtful and not so simple way of fighting those words with others.

But even if Stiles met all those demands, who said that Derek was seeing it as anything more than platonic, and earned enough from his current status of relationship with Stiles that he simply did not mind Stiles’ feelings? Or because it still disturbed him too much to think those feelings were the cause of family’s death?

It may not be right at all for Stiles to keep pondering about it, but he just could not help him.

Because even though Derek already looked much more at ease, like being away with Cora and her pack had done well with him- there was still so much Stiles wanted to achieve with him, and _knew_ he could: all those times they were chatting during drives about things Derek genuinely enjoyed were the peak of Stiles’ days and he would never have enough of them; Stiles romanticized the moments they were acting as though the relationship was as simple as a friendship more than anything.

Not that he could really imagine them as normal friends, either, as in the level he was with Erica, for example; because as much as Stiles appreciated anything that they had gone through to build what they had- there was a potential for more to add to it.

Fuck, he truly wanted _so much more_.

This was the significant difference between seeing the future and looking into one’s heart: because while logically and practically Stiles knew a thing between them could never work- in there, deep inside, it would always remain spry and real; forever would be as true as it could get.

But in case Derek’s heart had changed even more after that year, perhaps that pining was pointless. Who said that what had been seen in one’s heart at one point of time, no matter how deep they had gone, was forever fixed and relevant? Even if that was the case for Stiles, it did not mean it was always like that.

Only Stiles wanted to try; he wanted the challenge. He wanted to embrace it so badly, at both meanings if the word.

And after everything tonight, he was getting dangerously close to giving in to his feelings, as much as he knew he would regret it all later.

It did not help when Derek went out of the lift first, giving Stiles a chance which he had not even planned on to check him out from behind.

Ugh, of course the Olympians would feel insecure, with that with that kind of a masterpiece walking around.

What would the reaction Homophobic people be, if they knew that celestial bodies were afraid of a boy’s attraction to another- not because they also found it wrong, but because of how strong it was that it could put their plans in vain?

When Stiles eventually walked into the Loft himself, the sandals he was wearing made a weird, unfamiliar sound while stepping on the Loft’s floor, and it made him feel even more like a stranger while stepping further inside.

He looked around, at the table where he had used to throw his Jeep’s keys on, and the spot behind the sofa where he had sometimes left his shoes whenever it had become too hot to keep them on. For so long he had acted as though he was no less than a tenant, and everything still looked the same- but all those months since he had last stepped in there had turned him to almost a foreigner to the place as an invader. The memories of spending so many days there seemed so old and vague, but especially meaningless.

It may be the last time he would get there for a long time, after all. Hopefully, actually- as there was no other reason for him to be there other than building up a plan against a future enemy, right? That was the intention when he had first been brought there.

But oh, was he going to miss it all. He had already started to.

“Everything’s okay?” Derek suddenly asked, making him notice that he stopped on his tracks for a few seconds.

“Um, yeah,” he scratched his face awkwardly, where he was finally starting to get a serious amount of stubble that he would one day let grow, but at that moment a new look could have made him feel even more disconnected. “Just a lot to think about.”

Derek’s eyes tested him -- and just _why_ every kind of scowl of his could suddenly make Stiles’ stomach turn over?! -- and he huffed in confusion. “I thought you’d be angry that we didn’t tell you about Peter.”

It really was not like Stiles to react so indifferently to a development being performed more-or-less behind his back, but that current issue with Peter did not really bother him. Those events had had to happen during the days he had been resting from the final battle with the Alphas, so it was understandable that Derek did not want him to busy himself with a new trouble.

And with all the secrets Stiles himself had had to keep behind the scenes, it was relieving that Derek let the pack the freedom to decide what to share with him as well, and that they were not just shut down by Derek whenever they had doubts about Stiles.

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Stiles responded after a few more moments of silence from his side. “You’ve witnessed yourself how bad I handle two major problems at once, and it wasn’t even an emergency, like the Alpha pack was, that it can’t be considered an exclusive pack-business, so I respect that. Um, great job, by the way. You must be proud of how you all came up together to work so well on your own a project.”

Weirdly, Derek’s face fell; seemingly, he had been unprepared for that reaction not just because he had expected another- but also because there was something else which had surprised him almost to disappointment.

But before Stiles managed to realize just how open Derek let his expression be next to him- the latter shook his head, and it was gone in favour of a small self-reconciliation smile.

“You’re right,” Derek told him, while also trying to convince himself on the same time. “I did want to have something to restore their belief in our power as a pack without an exterior help. Now we only need to get back to train regularly, but other than that, I won’t let your credit in my pack being able to get so far to be overlooked.”

Stiles had a feeling that he knew what Derek was trying to ignore and get away unnoticed, but he could not continue to give the issue the same treatment himself anymore.

“We’ve never talked about this, but…” He swallowed. “Was there any point where you saw me as a part of your pack?”

Derek tightened his jaw, like refusing to let another glimpse of his real feelings about the subject escape.

“It doesn’t matter,” he stated dismissively, his stubborn attitude rougher than it had been that entire evening. “You don’t have to be a part of us, I know you already have your own pack.”

Stiles rose an eyebrow, snorting. “Are you kidding? If it weren’t to _actual_ obstacles that stand in the way, I wouldn’t let myself give up on someone who’s able to give me the kind of pep talk like you’ve done tonight. Where even was all of that hidden until now?”

Derek shrugged. “I’ve talked with Cora about everything a few times, and with some of her pack too, and they all helped me having some important insights. A lot of those words aren’t even mine.”

“Well, you’ve definitely said it all like they are part of who you are now, so does it really matter? Even if it feels to you that you copied from others, sometimes it’s just like growing, you know? And that’s exactly the kind of thing I want to keep seeing.”

Derek did not look convinced, and Stiles sighed.

“Look, this whole time, I’ve planned to step away once I get to this moment because of the whole thing with Gerard. But if you’re okay with that, and even Erica is still warm toward me for some reason- ” He rubbed his face, trying to get over his overwhelming amazement from the entire night so he could get to the point. “What I’m trying to say is, when leaving that reason aside, I don’t really want to be a part of any faction anymore. I’ve had enough of this two-sides thing even before I discovered that the supernatural world itself is divided to the Olympian side and the outcasted. Even if Scott is like an ally to you now, I won’t work according to cliques any longer.”

Derek opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something about it, but whether he was okay with that or not- there was something else more important for Stiles to discuss.

“But I’m just confused, because I still get mixed messages from you; I mean, today with Isaac- Why did you change the true story of what Zeus told me about us, knowing he’ll not try to find something wrong with that? It’s one thing if you don’t feel comfortable to let others know about it, but you can’t say that everything’s fine and that I’m welcomed without making sure it’s a decision everyone agrees with, while relying on true facts. It’s not how you manage your pack anymore.”

Stiles had no idea how ready Derek was to talk about it, or if _ever_ , but he still had to make sure it did not ruin anything else beyond their relationship.

Derek shielded his chest, but it did not look like the discomfort was entirely his own. “I was in a hurry to get away, so I told them everything through a video chat when I got to Peru. Or tried to, because they couldn’t hear if I was speaking the truth. The moment I started to tell them about the choice of Gerard for the role of Hera’s mediator he brought up a theory he’s had for a while, about how my family were supposed to be an ally to you, and that them, the new pack, are next, and the encounter with the Gigante and you going berserk on him are proofs to this. He didn’t let me tell the truth, but I had to let him have some sense of confidence for a moment, because all the stress he had about the random visits of social workers.”

While he was glad that the decision had been made for the right reason, Stiles wanted to smack himself for forgetting about it; especially as his Father was the one to get the decision to start that annoyance.

“So, what happened with that? Did they visit while you were gone?”

“No. The Darach’s sacrifices gave him an excuse to not be in the right state of mind to go through a major change, so they hold it off for the moment. They weren’t even aware he’s lived alone until now, so he could go to school and be with the other two while I stayed away with Cora.”

“Oh, wow, finally great news!” Stiles responded with an honest excitement. “Well, the Darach thing is not great at all, and we need to take care of it as soon as possible, but the bureaucracy of anything in this country is shitty as hell, so I think there’s nothing to worry about the time after that. Anyway, I guess we better be done as quickly as possible so you can go get him.”

“He’s on watch tonight after Deaton,” Derek assured him, but despite that started to lead Stiles again through the Loft- and to the direction of the spiral stairs, surprisingly. “The restraining order of Erica and Boyd has expired too, by the way, and was not renewed for now.”

“ _That’s_ my pops!” Stiles fist-pumped to himself.

Seriously, where the hell had all this good fortune been that entire time, and why had it taken so long for it to arrive at their lives?

Everything was slowly getting better, but Stiles was not delusional to believe that getting back to his human high-school life would help him to put everything that had already been solved behind him; getting right back to the way his life used to be, as much as he wanted it, was not a realistic option.

But what was needed in order to fully support him, beyond what he would let his friends help him with- seemed less and less optional the more he was letting himself testing it, not that he deserved to do so to begin with.

They then reached to the upper floor, which was divided into a couple of room by weirdly-arranged walls.

“I didn’t have a lot of time to split the space into two closed rooms properly when Cora arrived,” Derek explained when he noticed Stiles’ questioning gaze. “We’ll keep the armour in what used to be her room for now.”

He opened the door, but then he noticed that Stiles was not following.

“Right.” Stiles licked his lips. “So, I'm going to. The- The bathroom. To change.”

Derek stared at him for a stressful moment. “It'll be a too small space for getting out of an armour. You better undress out of it here.”

“O-Okay, I guess.”

He got into the room, which consisted of a simple, double-size bed, a closet, a table and a nightstand. Derek did not turn up the light, and Stiles did not question it, as there was enough city light coming through the window, as well as that of the moon.

After spending such a long time in his Father’s embrace that day -- and even if not being hugged by him, then just being continuously in his space almost all the time, finally finding a little peace by his closeness after long months away of fighting nonstop – looking at the domestic setting made Stiles eager to know what it would be like to experience the same with Derek.

But the opposite thing could have worked too, actually; he wanted to have Derek in _his_ arms, memorizing his eyebrows with his fingers, seeing his body through his hands. He wanted to know what his hair would feel like against his lips, along with being able to smell him close.

He would give everything to get a chance to get to know his heartbeat, to be able to repeat its exact rhythm by heart.

But even that was not enough, because Stiles wanted to touch much, much deeper: there were just so many points in Derek’s personality he was yet to explore enough, with other still left entirely unexposed; he felt it deep in his vein, shuddering his insides more than anything else he had ever got interested in- the need to tap into Derek’s soul and reach everywhere he could receive an access to, and enjoy the excitement of getting there many times more, forever.

Blinking away from the cosy thoughts -- stupidly being triggered by standing with Derek close to a bed, like that had never happened before; just how being out of control was that night turning him to? -- he turned around to face Derek, who was watching him in an unreadable expression that was hard to examine anyway in the moon-illuminated room, which ironically emphasized his literally Apollo-like physique in all of his glory.

Seriously, who needed to be granted an armour when you had Derek, better than any souvenir he could have received?

But Derek was _not_ his to get, which meant Stiles should stop with those ridiculous, pointless thoughts and focus on the fact that _Derek was still standing there_.

“Um.” Stiles was so nervous he licked his lips once again. “Is there anything else you want to tell me about?”

Derek gave him a baffled look. “No, why?”

“So, you’re just gonna, uh, standing there? At that point?” He asked him, finding it hard to keep his tone from squeaking.

Derek kept staring at him until he suddenly seemed to realize something, which turned him alarmed at once. “I make you uncomfortable. I'll wait downstairs.”

“No, no! It’s not something like that!” Stiles hurried to stop him, although he had yelled it way louder than he should have had, and even Derek looked almost startled by that. _Shit_. “It's just that, uh.” Embarrassed, his hands kept moving in the air helplessly as he tried to clarify himself. “Um, you're standing, there, you see? Willingly. While I'm changing. Here. The same direction to which your body happens to be turned to. As well as your, um, eyes. So, yeah, not uncomfortable as much as… _confused_ , if it makes sense?”

There was another pause from Derek’s behalf. “Do you need me to turn around then?”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth for a long moment- being in lack of words until all he could do was rambling non-stop. “Well, you're not any different than any other guy I’ve had to change in the same locker room with, so it’s not about you, it’s just that, what I don't understand, you see, is why… Is this- Why are you asking this like it's an option? I mean, why, in your point of view, there's no reason for you to consider to, um, _not_ keep have your eyes at where I’m standing, and also, um, happen to be about to undress?” He started waving over himself to make his point clearer, and accidentally touching his armour in the process made him think of something. “Wait, is this about the armour? ‘Cause as long as I don't need to wear this I really don't mind if you want to- ”

He cut himself off -- or, rather, lost too much of his breath to keep going -- when Derek ducked his head in order to hide the smile he had apparently tried to conceal the entire time, and _fuck_ was that the worst sight to add to such an eccentric, _agitating_ situation for Stiles.

But when Derek raised his head again, he returned him a look that was serious enough to almost calm his nerves entirely.

“I guess it comes from figuring how important it is for us to look after each other, constantly.”

With all those statements keep on coming, Stiles’ heart may not survive the night in this rate -- which was mostly going fast, when suddenly it was skipping a beat just to start racing again -- but he would go through the heart attack just so he could live through this moment.

“You said the Deities were afraid of the affinity between us,” Derek elaborated. “If it's really that strong that even powerful beings like them eventually gave up on fighting it, then we should take advantage of it by keeping an eye on each other so long we can. It’s the least we can do to get back at them through living.”

Stiles stared at Derek's sincere look- clean of any shadow of an amused, mocking smile, or wrinkles of restraint around his eyebrows; even his arms were not folded as usual, but kept behind his back.

Nothing about him hinted that he was uncomfortable about that assumption could suggest to Stiles, yet not serious enough as he should have been if he was _only_ talking about protecting each other's life; there was something else that soften his features from his normal scowl.

So, apparently, Derek had planned for Stiles to keep visit the Loft often enough so he could always be near his armour, so neither of them would be on his own and exposed during any bad situation that would come. _That_ somehow made sense, as they both proved enough times how much they cared of the other staying in one piece.

But what did any of these points have to do with Derek insisting to stay and _watch_ him putting his armour away, which he did not seem to care too much about? No danger was about to pop up from the thin air, and even more importantly, he knew what kind of impact Stiles would have from having him...

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Stiles would have thought it was Derek humiliating him as a punishment, only he had _seen_ Derek's cynical smile. It was an expression he had not seen from him for a while now, but he remembered it well enough to know that his current one was as far as it gets from cynicism. It was not like him to abuse someone by making them believing a lie anyway.

At any case, this was different than anything Stiles had ever experienced -- from Derek and in general -- and he had no idea why did he deserve to get such intense warmness, after everything that had been laid on the table.

But if it really was what Stiles assumed it to be about, and Derek truly wanted to go for this despite its consequences- then he should put aside any wonder of how it could be real, only focusing on not screwing anything up instead. This was his only chance, and just like during fights- he was going to give it everything he got, like losing was not an option.

Now, just what was his first move supposed to be?

His fingers tapped over the bottom of the cuirass nervously, then moved his hand up to rub over his head.

“I know I’m a great Olympian god’s child, and was even declared a hero by him and all that, but you do realize that even if I somehow don’t give you Halloween vibes with than on- I’m not even close to that without this look on, right?”

Yes, way to go, Stiles. Lack of confidence was exactly what he had learnt to do when facing an almost impossible mission.

But nothing could not happen without Derek finding something in him and not just being told he could, right? He had lost almost all of the muscle weight he had put on himself last spring, so what else was there left for him to offer to someone with a little more sense that a crazy Deity like Apollo?

Derek, though, remained unfazed. “I heard the Deities tend to take another shape when mortals see them, like they know _they_ have what to feel insecure of. You weren't born with an ability to change your face, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Stiles let his eyes take in Derek's figure, because any tip of him just _screamed_ how much he was supposed to be the Demigod between them, with a body that could easily be used as an inspiration for a Greek statue, although no artist in existence could really capture the beauty that was Derek Hale.

He was glad that the air between them was too tense to activate any other parts of his body but his accelerated beating heart -- which was about to skyrocket through his chest all the way back to Olympus -- because he was about to stand in front of Derek Hale in nothing but undergarments and he _really_ did not need to add that to his owned count.

Not that he was doing any better at that moment, making such an impressive thing as a freaking Hoplite armour to look like a ridiculous joke as it was designed to be adjusted to his body.

Just as he decided he would just go ahead and get this over with, he had to stop again before starting to take it off.

“No, seriously. If you expect to find a Nymph under this armour, you better forget it. Under all of it there's just me, Stiles. In a tunic. And a Batman boxer.”

Derek nodded. “Good. I only heard bad things about Nymphs.”

“Right. Uh, yeah.” Stiles cleared his throat- a sound too loud in the small room.

He wished he could breathe in more air than his lungs allowed him, but it seemed like nothing was going to help him gain any more confidence anyway.

Stiles quietly cursed to himself as he first unravelled the ties of the cuirass, only he had even more trouble with that than during the first time he had taken it off due to his fingers shaking, as he could _feel_ the stare of Derek on him. It was worse than any time he had lighted those piercing Alpha eyes, who could literally inspect much more aspects than human ones could.

Next, Stiles ducked to take off the greaves and then the sandals, trying to focus only on removing them; but eventually he was not really able to help himself from glancing up every few moments at Derek, who still wore that stupid, intolerable predatory _smirk_ , even though Stiles was completely unable to make the whole thing look even slightly alluring, not even accidentally.

Everything felt like it took forever under Derek's intense stare, but Stiles could not find it in himself to react to it beyond panting shallowly.

Stiles licked his lips. It was something he had done quite a lot recently, when he thought about it; especially around Derek.

At last, he rose back up slowly, even _carefully_ for a reason too complicated for his current hazy mind to analyze- and Derek's eyes followed along the movement. Even after Stiles had removed most of the armour an was standing more exposed than he had ever been next to him, with skin too pale under the moonlight and nothing to give a single clue of his nobility state- Derek had never broken once the eye contact through the entire time, as though there was something more fascinating about him like that than the mistaken illusion of a super-hot hero the costume gave, if one was blind enough to the one wearing it.

Stiles was used to Derek examining him, trying to get some sense from him that would answer the constant riddles that surrounded them throughout their full of danger lives, as some questions were better off to scowl about than uselessly raise them out loud.

But in that instant, there _really_ was no reason for him to stare.

Stiles shook his head with a shivery sigh. “Is there a chance you will ever have enough of looking at me like that?” He grumbly asked as he was untying the bracers on his arms.

But then he froze; had Derek just shaken his head in reply? Since when had Derek treated that kind of questions seriously?

It was only the very moment the last two pieces fell to the floor and landed with a loud _clang_ that Derek finally made a move and was approaching him. He came to a stop right in front of Stiles, and out of the blue held the sides of his face; the grip was not strong, but it still made Stiles blow out all the air in his lungs at once.

Derek’s gaze, luminous by the moonlight, checked him carefully, perhaps waiting for a confirmation that Stiles was too paralyzed to give vocally, as all he could do was to stare right back.

Damn, Derek’s eyes were truly more beautiful than those of any Deity he had ever seen.

Only Stiles could not even complete that thought in his head before Derek connected their mouths for a long moment.

It was only the tips of their lips sliding on each other’s, Derek’s pressing into his just a bit- but it was enough to stop everything, from Stiles’ heart to the very turn of the world, even if he could not sense it anymore.

Then came the break, where Stiles got a chance to breathe again, albeit he almost forgot to do so as it took him time to think coherently again- but that only made him understand how he would rather spend the rest of his life without being able to think straight if that what it felt like.

And then, with a tiny head movement of his towards Derek, they clashed again.

Only this desire, which had developed in Stiles during the last year, that he could not even refer to as an attraction but simply as _Derek_ as its intensity was something he would never experience with anyone else- was the only reason Stiles’ lips eventually responded with shifting slightly.

Stiles still had many questions about Derek’s sudden act, but he quickly discovered that a kiss had a not-praised-enough quality of thoroughly and effectively shutting the mouth, as he was finally too busy to ruin a rare good occurrence in his literally gods-damned life, and out of all the moments he had somehow succeeded to destroy- this one with Derek was the one he _really_ could not let to end badly as usual.

No, take it back- a whine had just escaped out of him; but Derek slickly utilized Stiles opening his mouth to apologetically murmur something ridiculous, and as suddenly the kiss was getting deeper- Stiles turned into an entranced man from that point on.

It did not go smoothly, with the teeth ruining the flow as Stiles kept losing control on himself, while his legs -- which felt heavy like a stone, yet trembled like jelly -- threatened to put everything to a stop as it was- but Derek, ever-patient through the whole thing, did not show any sign to care about anything else but Stiles’ devotion to their shared moment, as he ran his hands down Stiles’ neck and through his chest, until he supported some of Stiles’ weight by pressing his hands against his lower back, embracing Stiles’ whole body even more into his space.

Stiles enwrapped his own arms around Derek’s neck like a lifeline in return, and would have probably hung on him completely if he was shorter enough than him; as it was clear that Stiles was not going to get back his balance any time soon, he was slowly led to Derek’s bed.

Derek gently ceased the kiss so Stiles could lower himself on the edge of the mattress properly, and while he did not crash into it, he did land quite heavily, as his clumsiness was taking full charge once his adrenaline was high yet his divine fighting spirit was not there to resist it.

But even that short break and the sensation of another material than Derek’s warm body did not help his dizzy brain to determine it was indeed reality, and so he was thrown even deeper into an disoriented state when Derek took a seat beside him and suddenly started trailing his mouth with small pecks from the corner of Stiles’ mouth to the jawline and then to his neck, all while smoothing his hand up and down Stiles’ arm, like he was trying to calm him down.

The pace was lazily-like slow, and while something was still nagging in the back of Stiles’ mind that there was no way they had all the time in the world, he could not even remember the reason for that and just let himself to give in to the pleasurable intimacy, while gripping the sheet nervously so he would not be tempted to get a hold of Derek’s hair instead, which would surely end up in an unforgivable accident.

And just when he noticed he could barely hear anything outside his head beyond his own pulse- Derek took time to approve its wild rate, as he traced his tongue along Stiles’ neck.

But then he stopped again, this time to be able to test Stiles’ gaze.

Stiles did not want to think what kind of expression he was wearing, but as for Derek- he had a wild look in his eyes, and Stiles knew that he himself had never been that focused on something, ADHD and all.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked softly, and it surprised Stiles that he still expected him to be able to communicate rationally.

Respectively, Stiles snorted in the most idiotic voice that he had ever made a sound of. “Quite far from there.”

Because, yeah, it was also surprising that he was worried that Stiles could be only _okay_ after being kissed by him.

Derek shook his head, and took his hand off as he looked away. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re in this state.”

Stiles was not sure whether he was talking about the storm of emotions he had been going through that entire day -- or for more than that, because time was working differently for him recently -- or about the heavy scent of lust that was surely wafted out from him, but either way, he knew himself good enough to know that neither of those mattered.

While always finding Derek hot, from the very start, during that day at the woods -- and as absolute gorgeous back when he had been a kid -- it was true that Stiles had used to think that a making-out session would require circumstances that would never match those in his fantasy world. More than that, even after getting to know Derek and acknowledging the feelings which had been developed by that, the circumstances had become even worse.

But there was not even one moment where he thought it could not happen because Derek would have evil, rapacious means. Even when everything had still been vague about him, no matter anything that Stiles had ever suspected him to do or had known for sure he had done, and done so wrong- the word that usually had rolled on his tongue so easily with anyone else had been always forgotten when it had come to Derek, even when others like “scary” and “hurting” had easily come right to mind.

So while Stiles had not been sober enough most of the time to think about the feelings he had discovered seriously, or had let himself to- his subconscious had talked to him enough during those long months to know that if there was something real in all those hallucinations about death -- while not remembering the reason their ways had been separated -- then it was the pure will to go through all that process to be able to meet Derek again.

“You should know better by now to assume anything like that,” Stiles eventually responded with certainty, as he could not have wanted it more. “I would have never used you to comfort myself, and I’m not confused by everything enough to remember what I want wrongly, and risk losing what we have. Even if I was under the effect of something, I would always have let you know.”

Derek nodded, and swallowed with nervousness which did not suit him- but it was not like the scenario of the two of them _kissing_ was more reasonable.

“I missed seeing you like that, I guess.” Derek turned to him again with a small smile Stiles wanted to see so much more. “Unafraid to say exactly what you think, and yet somehow still so…   _defenceless_.”

Stiles knew it was not about consent; even the old Derek, who had used threat and intimidation in order to get what he had wanted, had not tried to take advantage of Stiles’ avoidance to use his strength to fight someone off when it had not been a life-and-death situation.

Stiles had already known that their mutual teasing was not only enjoyable for him, which was the biggest, if not the only thing, that made sense about Derek finding anything at all in him: the fact he was someone who could apparently trigger all kinds of frustration.

But Stiles did not want it to raise it through annoyance; not _this_ time.

Because if Derek missed seeing a side of Stiles which he had no time to express, then it was because he had proven himself in the last almost half year to win any challenge that he had been given- and this current one was not going to be any different.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles rose his eyebrows. “Want me to show you see what _defenceless_ is really like?”

Derek’s brows furrowed, and they had done so even more baffedly once Stiles climbed on his lap.

It took a few moments for Stiles to take in the sight in front of him: not just the wonderful phenomenon of Derek’s expanded pupils, which were surrounded in colourful irises, but also the attentive gaze, which managed to remain as such even in this kind of situation. It felt like Stiles could never appreciate enough his serious treatment toward him.

If only the one giving that knew what he was planning.

“In one of my most desperate phases,” Stiles started, “I searched for the best ways to, um, _pleasure_ my partner, so I’ll be ready when the day comes. Anyway, I heard that the nose is surrounded by a lot of nerves, and if it’s done right- it’s one if the best areas to use to arouse.” Stiles started to gradually duck closer to Derek’s face. “Considering that I’m trying it for the first time, I kinda expect a crushing failure. But I can’t let myself to not try at least giving you a fair fight, a one your wolfy ass demands for too long without anyone giving you that properly.”

It took him a few more moments of hesitation, but eventually he tilted his head a bit and got his tongue out through a nervous smile -- and oh gods, this _had better_ to work or he was dead -- using its tip to outline the side of Derek’s nose, trying to be as precise as possible to be able to touch any possible triggerable spot.

Stiles did not have time to examine just how much he had dumbfounded Derek, though, as the latter suddenly drew the both of them to the other edge of the bed -- and much more roughly so, compared to the previous time he had maneuvered them -- and grounded both of Stiles’ wrists to the matters, with their lips finding each other just a blink of an eye after.

Derek was kissing him desperately, like any second his mouth was not on the other's was painful for him. Stiles wanted to laugh, but Derek did not let it end just by that.

Even with such an untamed attitude, Derek had no intention to abandon the gentleman manners that fast – this, or he was _that_ much of an asshole, depends on how you look at it -- and was not ready to continue before they were both bothered in the same level: he stripped the tunic off of Stiles, so his entire abdomen was exposed, and then turned to take care of the area by going up and down the navel line and the sides of Stiles’ body, as well as his chest.

From there Stiles’ ride in the highway to the of the dignity-abandoning valley was launched, as he moaned like every touch of Derek on his skin was the one feeling he had been waiting for his entire life. He arched his back by an instinct to get himself impossibly closer to Derek, but who could remember their logic anymore when Derek _fucking_ Hale’s lips were addictive and tingle-inducing whether you taste them or were nipped by them anywhere else?

The slowness in which Derek was giving attention to every single spot on his upper body tormented Stiles, yet was so good that he did not fully want it to stop; whatever Derek found interesting enough in his body to keep going like that, he wished he would never go short of.

Only it also meant that it was harder and harder for Stiles to get a hold of himself, and Derek eventually found specific areas which made Stiles’ stomach to jerk a little whenever they were touched; but when Stiles shook hard enough to shove him a little, his embracement was relieved once again as Derek looked up at him wearing a literal wolfy smile, and it was clear that he liked that reaction.

He briefly kissed Stiles again, reassuring him in a clearer way, and then his eyes scanned the aftermath of Stiles’ body following his careful work.

Stiles did not know if he ever be able to grasp that picture, but even if he did, he would feel bad about it as he could have done nothing in return to all of that goodness, being such a greenie in that field; just what had he done to get himself with someone who did not even expect to receive just as much back?

“I wish I had another trick to show you,” Stiles murmured, “but I promise that by your next birthday, I’ll find something to repay for all of that for sure.”

Derek froze at that.

The next thing Stiles knew, he was lying there on his own – which almost felt like he was ripped off of something – as Derek had dragged himself to the far corner of the bed, although he clearly had to force himself to do so: he was gripping the sheet tightly, not minding the way it was about to be ripped.

Both of their breaths were heavy as they were doing their best to relax their excitement down, as much as it hurt; it helped Stiles that he was already irritated by whatever reason Derek had put a sudden end to this, whether it was his fault or not, but swallowed down any comment he had as he knew that part of it would be his hurt arousal speaking.

Ugh, to think that either way, it was not a result of the ridiculous trick he had done with his tongue on Derek’s nose, but what he was using his tongue to _utter_. So fucking classic.

“I’m sorry, I went too far,” Derek panted. “Without the pack, it’s easy to forget your age, but it doesn’t mean I could be hasty and kiss you, not to mention to let it get all the way to _this -- ”_

“ -- Wait, hold on,” Stiles cut him off, shocked. “What do you mean by _this_? This whole thing was supposed to be even _less_ than that because of my age?!”

Derek, still with his back him, shook his head, somehow more to himself than to Stiles. “We can’t do anything further, not until you’re 18.”

Stiles blinked enough times for his entire life. “Until I’m 18? What’s stopping you is the fact I’m a minor? I- I- _What_?”

“As long as your Father is the Sheriff, I’m gonna respect that.”

Stiles slapped his forehead. In the Olympus, where he had never been referred to as a boy and for sure was already considered as an adult for all intents and purposes, it was easy to forget that his body was possibly still not fully maturely-developed- but it did not mean that the _law_ knew anything about it, either physically or mentally.

“ _Of course_ when it comes to your private life, _inside_ your home, you’d care about the law.” Stiles pinched the bridge of the nose. “How come you don’t care about what my biological Parent think about your kind and his disgust about us together, but you do about my human one?”

Derek shrugged before turning to him. “He’s the only one between them that _you_ care about.”

Stiles stared at him wide-eyed; to get to where he was that day, Derek had broken more laws than the Sheriff would ever want to know about, even if it had always been because someone’s life was on the line- but doing anything below the age of consent was something his Father would not have turned a blind eye to, and would have arrested him for sure.

Only it did not seem to even be about his Father’s position and power; from the way it sounded like, this time Derek had taken the chance to be a good citizen for a change just because it had something to do with his Father’s _opinion_ on him.

Stiles was completely astonished, but not enough to not realize that he could not respect Derek’s consideration while dumbly staying half-naked.

He sat up, keeping changed the position of his hands as nothing felt casual enough. “Uh, so do you happen to have something better than a tunic to lend me?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

As Derek went out of the room, he passed by the pile of armour pieces on the floor, which built together what had kept magnetizing Derek’s eyes over and over again back in the party- Stiles suddenly could not hold a snort as he realized something.

The smile did not leave his face even when Derek returned with a folded set of sweatpants and a shirt, and if anything, only grew.

“Dude, you have an _armour kink_.”

Derek simply gave him an unimpressed look and put the clothes next to him, letting himself take a seat a little closer to Stiles than a few minutes prior.

But Stiles _was_ going to get him for bringing him to that level of frustration earlier.

“Half a year until the age of 18 is not enough for you, but that’s until you see me in that armour. _Finally_ I know what good use I can have of that.”

“Stiles.”

“What, so you want you to tell me that you couldn’t resist me like that because of some magic dust was sprinkled on me while meeting the gods? I’ve chosen to _not_ become one of them, in case you forgot. I may not be completely human, but I have no divine power for you to claim you were under the effect of something either.” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows. “Admit it, it does too many things to you to be able to think right, even now.”

Derek raised his own brows. “So, with that, you _still_ don’t want me to treat you as I do with any human, a species who usually live by the _human world’s_ rules?”

“So you’re saying that the Moirai made it a fate for me to be born specifically in California, and not in another state where it’s legal before that?” Stiles rubbed his face. “ _Come on_ , Derek. These months aren’t gonna change anything besides formal aspects, and you know it: neither my body or my mind isn’t gonna be through something to affect them like these months had, but no trauma from that has anything to do with my discretion.”

Derek huffed. “Which means we’re gonna stay stuck with your childishness for a long time.”

It took everything in Stiles to not flip him off, so he just rolled his eyes.

“By the way,” Derek added suddenly, “there’s no point to trick me that you can already round off the time you have left to half a year. It’s not even December now, and in the twenty-fourth of October you had exactly a year until then.”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “How do you know that?”

Derek quirked an obscure smile. “Ever thought how familiar was the Loft’s password?”

Stiles frowned. “ _420149_ ” had never sounded to him like a hidden date, even though it was well likely for a choice of a password.

...Unless the numbers were disordered.

_24/10/94*_

Stiles’ eyes widened. He was so impressed by Derek that he almost jumped on him to kiss him with pride over his praiseworthy wisecrack, as simple as it was.

“The lift was fixed mostly for you to use while you were injured, so I chose something that will be easy for you to remember,” Derek explained. “I’m surprised you haven’t realized it until now.”

And now Stiles wanted once more to kiss him for his consideration; damn it, after they crossed that line one time, it was hard to take a step back.

“It’s not something I would’ve ever guessed- Oh, but I made my research about you, so yeah, I guess it’s only fair you will do one about me as well.”

Derek shrugged. “I just asked Erica. About how _you_ know about it, does it make you still feel comfortable doing something else behind the Sheriff’s back?”

Stiles raised his hands submissively. “Okay, okay, point taken, _Caped Crusader_ _Derek_. Or shall I say, _The Dark Knight Detective_? You know, when I piece it all together… Shit, Dude, you really _are_ like Batman. It's _way_ cooler than me.”

“Stop calling me Dude. And didn’t Batman face gods a few times as well?”

Stiles’ face was almost split by his wide grin. “ _Dude_ , you’re right! I’m so going to have to do a rereading to some comics somewhen soon.”

Derek rolled his eyes away from Stiles, but he was not truly protected from the latter’s self-satisfaction even as he was getting into the borrowed shirt.

There was silence between them then, and even though it was not heavy in particular- Stiles felt some sort of weight on him, like the awkwardness of before was getting back.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. So, I say we skip on the awkwardness part for a change and just call it a night right away. And before you offer, it’s okay; I'll just call my Dad or Scott or whatever to pick me up, and I’m pretty sure I'm familiar enough with this place to be able to show myself the door- ”

Just before he could move a centimetre closer towards the edge of the bed, though, Stiles sensed an ever-so-slight movement that froze him in his place.

He looked down at Derek's hand, which was back where it had been a moment ago, without getting any closer to him- but Stiles _knew_ that for a split second of hesitation, something desperate in Derek influenced him to forget all about his stiff self to do something Stiles had never thought would be possible for him, at any kind of situation, without a good and well-thorough therapy.

The little, barely-there jerk movement of the hand had been a plea for Stiles to not leave, due to nothing else other than Derek's plain will for Stiles to not go away.

That secret-and-not-really-there begging was surprising to Stiles since Derek had never exposed his personal, intimate needs, at any level; but even if the gentle intent to reach out should have been impossible- Stiles was confident that at this point it could not have been a misreading of the situation by him.

But the real scary part was that if Derek's subconsciousness had caught Derek unprepared for that brief moment and had taken of it, before his logic could have caught up to the risk of Derek acting according to how vulnerable and helpless he truly was- it could only mean Derek was currently facing some of the worst possible scenarios that could have ever happened to him, and so almost could not keep his desire down.

It was not a new theory for Stiles that being left behind was one Derek's biggest fear, which, heartbreakingly, he had had to face over and over again- but was it repeated so much for him that he even let someone like _Stiles_ to have the possibility to hurt him like that?

Stiles decided to stop questioning that as it seemed like whatever reason was behind that -- he was not there for a couple of months, after all, a lot of things could have happened to Derek -- and kept all those thoughts to himself, deciding that staying the night for Derek in order to keep him at ease was better than reproaching him about it.

“Stiles, did you hear what I said?” Derek talked loud enough to bring him back out of his thoughts. “I’ll take you home.”

Stiles tried to act as nonchalant as he could. “Oh. Well, thanks for the offer, but on second thought, I think I’ll stay.”

Derek’s brows furrowed.

“Look, I.” Stiles sighed. “I’m tired. I mean, it’s not that bad that I can’t hold on until we get home and all, but it’s not just physically. I haven’t really had a quiet moment ever since you've left with Cora, and my best times of sleep I’ve had during the summer beforehand were when I fainted- and one of those was very short, in the clinic where Scott did his stupid tattoo. Anyway, friends do sleep-overs and cuddles too sometimes, right? As long as it's just a pure, good-ol' pyjama party, there's nothing wrong with an adult sharing a mattress with a 17 years-old. All I want is to have one peaceful night before I get into the Darach-hunting fun myself.”

There was truth in that, as he _did_ need someone to lay close to him for a night, no matter how tough he was supposed to become following the Labours- but he knew that only giving his personal explanation as to why he wished for it so badly would make it easier for Derek to let himself have Stiles as well, for his own needs.

Satisfyingly, the tension faded almost entirely away from Derek’s face, but something seemed to still bug him from turning truly pleased.

“But what about your Father?” Derek asked gently, seemingly concerned for both of their behalfs.

“Oh, right. Can I use your phone for a sec?”

Once handed the device, Stiles sent a message for the Sheriff about staying longer than anticipated in order to deal with additional matters – also making sure to mention it would be done _appropriately_ , like during every time Stiles had stayed at Derek’s – and that the rest of the week would consist just the two of them as promised, with no interruption whatsoever.

“Done.” Stiles threw the phone back to his owner with an assured smile. “He might give the both of us this _face_ of his tomorrow, but nothing to worry about; you’ve survived it earlier tonight, you’ll do it again.”

Derek played with the phone in his hand, still uncomfortable about something, and that diminished some of the sureness Stiles had had until that point.

“We don’t really have to sleep in the same room if it’s too much, you know.” Stiles averted his eyes away himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to force you into anything. _Or_ trying to provoke and re-entice you, I swear it’s nothing about that.”

“I know,” Derek said, and Stiles was glad that it at least was not about that. “But I have to make sure you don’t feel _obliged_ to do that.”

Stiles shrugged. “To what? Feel safe with you?”

Derek snapped scared eyes at him, which put Stiles on edge as well. Why would he receive those words like that?

“You can’t- ” Derek squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t say something like that so lightly, like I’m your- ”

But Stiles still did not regret answering the way he had had, with words he would gladly repeat in a heartbeat; even if there were an instant where he had wondered if Derek wanted to do something to make sure what Stiles had done would not be repeated, he knew that as long as Derek did not mind that, there was no reason to suspect him.

“There were… a few things I talked about with Cora on our way to South America,” Derek said suddenly. “I wouldn’t have reached you the way I did without that. She made me believe you don’t see it as something as obvious as other people would, but it looks like the cruelty of the gods blinded you to that of the mortals, after all.”

Stiles frowned, but still tried his best to stay patient. “But we’ve been over this, Derek. A lot of things happened because the gods wanted to get you as far as possible from me by making you _think_ all the humans are evil, and that you’re not worthy of anything.”

“And could nothing of that have happened in the same way without their impact?”

Suddenly Stiles realized that Derek had never denied his clear attraction to him that entire time, until that very point; Derek had simply ignored it because he was afraid for _Stiles_.

The slap Derek had gotten by reality was unimaginable, after all; when he had been with Kate, he must have thought he was fully protected by a family who, as a pack, had been indestructible. Stiles had not heard a lot about their real reputation -- and would love to, if Derek would feel comfortable to talk about it in the future -- but he knew they had survived different threats for centuries, most of them far more serious than Hunters who claimed to have a code.

But his whole world had come crashing down through the power of divine madness, which Stiles had the unfortunate to taste it a few times on his own; and while he had no idea what it was like from the victim’s point of view, but for the longest time he had thought he had carried that exact amount of ruthless in him naturally, without never doubting it as it had the same features of a real one.

All in all, he _knew_ that an intimacy with anyone should never be taken lightly, whether they had anything to do with the Deities or not; but the thing was, he was beyond the moment of considering that with Derek.

Stiles breathed deeply. “Okay, you can’t have me if I’m naïve, I get it. But I didn’t impulsively consider giving that a change, okay? I’ve been through a process too. And part of that process was when you’ve taught me to let time reveal how a person should be judged, because when I’ve first met you, I wouldn’t have guessed how sensitive you would be with your pack, but then you’ve surprised me. So I didn’t learn this by getting hurt, but I’ve been through enough of another kind of experiences while getting to know you; enough so I trust you, all the way.”

Derek searched between his eyes, and seemed to finally what he needed to finally be at rest, as the tension was gone from his shoulders.

They were giving each other speeches the entire night, and Stiles was starting to have enough of it, so he looked for something lighter to talk about.

“I’m surprised that Cora’s supporting us,” he noted.

Derek huffed. “It’s not like she understands my taste completely, but she said that regardless, the most important point is that your feelings didn't kill our family, but Hera’s. We're in luck that the entire town was not destroyed together with them. Nothing will ever be a substitute for our family's death, but it doesn't worth the pain of separating our lives from each other because of something that was neither of our faults.”

“That’s… pretty awesome of her to say,” Stiles admitted, laughing softly.

Only Derek kept sitting with some distance away from him, and Stiles was _legitimately_ getting tired, without them advancing in any way to lay down, whether it was together or separately.

Trying to resist the need to rub at his eyes, Stiles asked: “So what’s now?”

Derek looked almost hesitant on the phone lying on his leg, as though something in him feared the Sheriff was willing to go as low as eavesdropping, and while that would be unquestionably disturbing- Stiles still felt touched by the yet another proof that Derek was more worried about that than he had ever been of the Deities who did not even need electronic devices for that.

He cleared his throat as he subtly put the phone on the nightstand, and then the untouched pair of sweatpants on top of that.

“No repetition of earlier until your birthday,” Derek finally replied, although his eyes kept drifting to the side of the bed every few seconds. “But, of course, if you meet someone during that time, you should feel completely free to do whatever you -- ”

“ -- Wait, what?” Stiles shook his hands in front of him almost to physically cutting that line of thought. “I- Wait, no, I _do_ appreciate your consideration and respect my freedom of choice, but remember who you’re talking with. Once my admiration for someone starts, it lasts for _years_. And nothing can possibly be big enough to break this one.”

Only this one was going to be much worse than what he had with Lydia, because, while no kissing meant something close to business as always- now that he had that memory of just what being with Derek was like, he was _still_ going to be stinky to the rest, after all, even if not because of boars-like beasts attracting juice, or divine creatures’ excrement.

 “But, like, what the time _until_ this year’s over is gonna be like? I mean, Of course I want things to mostly be as always, and to be able to come here just because, but do you think _we_ can be the same, like my status in the pack hasn’t changed at all?”

Derek shrugged. “You can always find a way to convince the others that we should start doing after-full-moon huddle sessions.”

Stiles gaped. “Wait, so puppy piles are a _thing_ for Werewolves?!”

“It’s not _puppy piles_ , but some things can be optional. It all depends on the pack’s will to participate.”

“Oh, I _will_ make them have the will participate, just you wait and see.”

Derek laughed, an actual happy sound; the sweetest Stiles had ever heard.

Derek then went to the other side of the bed, where he lied down and gently pulled Stiles’ head until it was placed over his chest. He covered them with a blanket and cradled Stiles under it, putting his hand on Stiles’ palm so their fingers were integrated.

Forget about Werewolf senses- Stiles knew his fast heartbeat could be heard even by a human at that point, and it didn't help him calm down.

But Derek kissed his head softly, and Stiles could feel his lips stretched in a smile; and when he put his head back down, Stiles saw he was still with his eyes opened, like he was more interested in staring at the ceiling for some reason than in closing his eyes and trying to catch some sleep himself. Figures.

Nevertheless, the quickness in which he fell asleep in Derek's embrace would never be belittled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *European format date :P 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/177074782986/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-17)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added another tag- please make sure to tell me if there's something else I should add!

Stiles felt something starting to slip from his grasp -- a snug, cushy-like warmth -- and instinctively tried to cling more strongly to it; whatever it was, Stiles’ sleepy mind understood enough that it was too pleasant to give let it get away from his hold and regret later, when he would fully wake up for it gone.

Even as it struggled more and more, dragging the both of them through the mattress- Stiles remained tenacious, tightening his hands around it even more.

But when it got to a point where he felt himself reaching the edge of the bed, and it was between giving up on the cuddle and being woke up violently so it was not worth it anymore anyway- had to choose the first.

After repositioning himself in a safe distance from the risk of free-falling to the floor, he rubbed away the rheum in his eyes to finally get a clear vision of Derek panting as he was smiling down at him amusingly.

Stiles’ eyes widened when he realized what had just happened.

“I almost had to shift so I can deal with it with a full-on Alpha strength,” Derek huffed.

“Dude, seriously, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what I was fighting with and I didn’t -- ”

“ -- _Relax_ , Stiles.” Derek sat down next to him. “I would have woken you up if it was that serious. So just go back to sleep, and I’ll stay here more if you want.”

Stiles shook his head dismissively. “That’s fine, I’m so embarrassed that my mind is past the point to get back to sleep. I mean, I’m going to be _so_ dead a few hours from now -- and what’s wrong with you for being such an early bird, anyway? -- but hopefully I’ll have time to nap later or something.”

“Even if I let you hug me again?” Derek’s shit-eating smirk did not leave his face, but it was still a unique thing that Stiles wished to turn into a normal, regular thing for the Sourwolf to exhibit before Stiles could say something about it that would ruin all the work he had done to break that wall.

With that in mind, Stiles just returned him a dirty look. “I’m glad I’m amusing you- I’ve always wanted to be with someone just to be a light entertainment for them first thing in the morning. _Yes_ , it was cosy with you, but it doesn’t mean I’m the needy type you think of me to be.”

Derek had to simply raise his eyes in question it, and for once, Stiles was glad he used that kind of communication method instead of wording it out loud.

Nevertheless, it was a shame that he did not live in that forsaken train station anymore- at least _that_ place had things to bury himself under, just for occasions like that.

“Okay, yeah, so last night I had a few reactions that would claim otherwise, but that was only because- Because you’re good with- whatever it is that you,” Stiles cleared his throat, trying to overcome his stutter, “do. But it’s not like your biceps make me want to loudly demand ‘ _mine!’_ whenever you take off that leather jacket of yours, which is _totally_ not starring in my fantasies as something I tear off of you -- fantasies which _totally_ never happen by the way -- and it’s not like your perfect beard and eyebrows make me wanna cry, or -- ”

Stiles shifted to a sitting position without noticing, as his awkwardness made him gesticulate more and more erratically with a little self-control, and it made the sunlight hitting him right in the eyes; but then, when he tried to move again to avoid it as he was babbling on- Stiles was cut off by the out-of-the-blue weight of Derek’s hand on his shoulder, which kept him in place.

Derek moved to the very corner of the bed so Stiles could direct his head a bit away from the window actually keep his eyes open, but kept the hold on him firm as he kept examining him profoundly, with mouth hang-open enough so Stiles was able to make an observation of his own of the other’s bunny teeth- only something about the sudden change in the environment made Stiles want to shrink into himself even more than a moment prior.

Just when he thought he could not take that intense intimacy any longer, Derek seemed like he had been confirmed with whatever it was that he had been trying to make Stiles let him see in his eyes under the sunshine, and retreated his hand enough to give Stiles the freedom to move again- only he stayed close enough to hover the back of his palm over Stiles’ cheek, so adjacent it was touching-not touching the skin.

Stiles wanted to open his mouth and ask about all of that, but then Derek’s hand touched him for real, and did it delicately so, as though to there was something new he had found about Stiles to be wary of, lest he made any change to it.

Stiles’ eyes searched for answers in Derek’s own eyes, but it was hard to do so until Derek’s gaze focused right on him at last- like the mysterious thoughts which had filled his head made Stiles’ questioning expression directed at him to go unnoticed up to this point.

Derek’s awed face were brimmed themselves with a smile, as he was slowly caressing along the side of Stiles’ face; as _that_ sight was something worthy to cause a reaction as Derek had just had, Stiles had no idea what impression could he possibly make himself to make it happen, considering the very plain person he was supposed to be when he was not doing anything beyond staring back.

“Look, if you're gonna say something about an eternal glow, I swear I'm gonna kick you through the window.” Stiles knew his threat was convincing as shit, but he just had to break the silence.

Derek shrugged. “What eternal glow? All I see is _you_.”

That. Fucking. _Guy_.

Derek huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You have such an innocent, human look, but while you’re nothing like the son of a god that you’re supposed to be- it only makes you even more celestial.”

Stiles blinked a few times, and not because the light that burned his eyes.

He let the silence to keep scratching on and on, but no laugh or a shade of a smile cracked it.

“Innocent? _Me_? And calling me celes- Derek, are you feeling well? Have you caught something even your Werewolf healing can’t treat? Okay, you know what, I’ll just go bring you water.”

Stiles tried to push himself off of the bed, but Derek’s hand again stopped him from doing so. He was not really forcing him to stay there, but Stiles knew that he _wanted_ to- and as much strange of a reason as he had for that, Stiles had nothing in him to refuse.

But that _aura_ or whatever just might be the only thing that kept that scenario going, instead of it ending up like was described in _Notting Hills_ \-- oh, shut up, he had simply watched it because loved Hugh Grant -- about the eventual disappointment of these situations: going to bed with a fantasy, and waking up with a person.

“I know what we talked about last night, but if I didn’t have this whole…” he gestured over himself generally, “divine thing going on, would you still…?”

During the previous night, Derek had talked more than usual, so it was almost annoying when he just continued to smile at Stiles quietly; but he indeed knew to say better through acts than words, and so Stiles forgot his disapproval at once as Derek got closer to him and brushed his nose against his.

When Stiles snapped his eyes opened, it was to find the smile on Derek’s face being replaced with a deeply meaningful look, one that would be given only to a person with a great importance.

“I’m going to make coffee, I’ll be right back.” Derek got up the bed just as suddenly, leaving Stiles still mostly stuck at that moment they had just shared.

“Um, ‘kay. Thanks?” Stiles eventually murmured, but then realized something right before Derek disappeared completely in the spiral stairs outside the door. “Wait, do you still remember how I like it?”

“As effective as a double dose of Adderall,” Derek retorted easily.

Stiles knew he was supposed to want to roll his eyes, but suddenly there was no reason even for sarcasm- all he could really do was smiling to himself.

Leaning back into the pillow, Stiles mulled over everything that had happened since he had come back from the Olympus until that very moment: how from returning completely broken and devastated, as though he had lost- everyone had managed to feed him a taste of his actual victory, and later on his spirit had been lifted up so much that it was almost like his mental state was completely cured.

And if he was going to fall hard once he would have to face reality after that, he was too stupefied by everything that was good at his very present -- a kind of appreciation he had rarely ever been able to seriously do -- that he was pushing away his logic for the time being.

No wonder that the fantasy made a fool out of him, with the casual, yet fond way in which Derek had joked to him a moment ago, like they had been together for a while at that point, and also like nothing had changed from before, made it dawn on him: Derek and _him_. Him and _Derek_. Their names could be said together in one breath because of _that_ reason.

Okay, so they were not _fully_ together, but it was as official as it could be: he knew that away from each other they both would behave like people who were already taken, and besides the physical aspect, nothing was going to change too much, really, when they would start to refer about the other with _that_ title.

So as anticipated it was to take it to the next, better step, and as irritating as was the forced slow pace they would have to take it, when the length of the waiting was not necessarily essential to either of them- anything was good for Stiles, and he was going to make sure that anything else that could affect it would be perfectly solved by the time of his next birthday.

Because anything else was just a simple addition; they were already great even without it, and the previous night was the perfect example of it: the way he felt the love he had been fighting for so long in Derek’s arms, to the point he kept fighting over retaining it even while being asleep.

How could he ever be seriously be offered the Nymphs over someone who was the only reason to keep the armour he had been given just because he was such a keeper _himself_?

He still could not tell how much he really meant for Derek, only that, taking into account what he had been woken up to, it was _real_ ; but even if it was half as much as Derek was to him, with how he made him feel _worthy_ , then Stiles no longer had a question in his mind as to why Hera had felt that much  _intimidated_ by a relationship way awesome than the Olympus would ever be able to create with their divine powers; Stiles and Derek were not soulmates, yet were kept apart because it was clear they would be _that_ powerful together.

“Take _that_ , Hera. We did it; we beat your actual godly relationship,” he told the empty room.

Or so he thought.

An unexpected guest startled Stiles out of his daydreaming when he noticed her from the corner of his eye, who was sitting on the workbench with one leg on top on the other.

He was not willing to ever admit there was anyone who could truly resemble Lydia -- besides her relatives, perhaps – and especially not when it came to the most beautiful parts about her, but whoever sat there _did_ look like Lydia’s picture would have looked like after retouching it in photoshop, making some areas looking more noticeable that was needed- by being higher with longer limbs, among other changes.

And if by chance that woman was her future daughter who had gone back in time -- because everything was fucking possible by that point -- then he was glad he managed to not be as attracted to her as was expected.

“You refuse to believe him, but he’s right, you know.” Her voice sounded like a tune of itself, with no need to other instruments in the background, and she was once-overring him slowly. “Fighting talent is not the only advantage about being the son of a Deity.”

As soon as the term _‘Deity_ ’ was uttered, Stiles’ wonder about Derek not noticing her presence and getting back was answered, even if he still had to figure out her actual identity.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

She giggled and gracefully jumped off the table and stepped towards him, doing it in a way that was showing off her statuesque body with each step, without actually doing an over-exaggerating hip swing. “You’re not a son of Athena, so a fast perception is not something that you’d surely be born with.” She ducked down, leaning her hands on the mattress, making Stiles drag himself away from the bed. “But I have to say that it stings that I don’t impress you enough to get it right away.”

Her smell was _terrific_ , and Stiles knew he would have been attracted to her if he was not so into Derek.

This thought was what finally helped him to piece it all together: “Aphrodite.”

She sat down on the now empty bed, laughing once more. “Your true love is the only cause for you being able to resist me, because being divine alone does not make one immune to my power. The problem is,” she stopped in order to activate a sudden force that was pulling Stiles through the air right back to lying on the bed next to her, so she could position herself close and sweetly whisper her words through his ear and swirl it shivery all the way down his spine, “all of that makes me being less immune to you myself.”

Stiles wanted to crawl out of his skin as that; it felt undeniably nice, but only because that was her effect and there was no other choice. It was not a _positive_ nice at any aspect.

As much as it angered him, the problem was that he could not try to attack her back so long she could just wait for the next time he would get out of Beacon Hills, and get him for that as soon as he would pass the line of the protection mark -- he was paranoid about it well enough that he did not even have to fight the urge -- and so he just dragged himself again to the edge of the bed, leaving one leg on the ground while being as far as possible without attempting to get really far again.

But was the mark not supposed to block the Deities’ path to Beacon Hills as well, no matter what?

“How did you even get here?” Stiles frowned, more disturbed by the possible answer than the ugly experience he had just had.

“Well, the mark stops us from making harm to you.” She started playing with his hair. “But a Hubris sin can never be overlooked.”

The sin of pride; that explained how she could get him back to the bed, and even use her seducing powers.

But even when the blood was gradually running from his face, Stiles was still confused: he had let himself be glad for what Derek and he could achieve with each other, but how proud was he being that it could be seen as a sin?

“Usually the Erinyes are the ones to take care of it,” she kept talking in a light tone, indifferent to Stiles’ state, “but there are some perks for being their Sister.”

Stiles could defiantly see how much easier he would have dealt with the spirits of retribution and revenge than a Deity who whole existence was about messing with one’s desires, so no wonder they had let her take the job.

“What- What’s gonna happen now?” He wanted to pray that the punishment would only affect him, but in his case, there was barely anyone left he could direct it to.

The Deity stretched out her hand to shadow over the spot on his face where Derek’s own hand had touched just a couple of minutes before, until she started dragging her thumb over his bottom lip; Stiles shook himself immediately until her hand was shoved away.

She crooked her neck to the side, looking at him with honest sadness. “It’s such a waste that your confidence isn’t all-inclusive, especially with your body. With such amazing, _nectar_ -shade eyes, and your cupid’s bow who is even more perfect than the actual bows of my Ero. And you know what they say about males with cupid’s bow…”

“That when Aphrodite comes all the way to share the bed with them, they still know to not buy her bullshit, because she’s an egomaniac like the other gods?” He said through gritted teeth.

If he had sinned enough to get screwed -- if little words to himself were enough to be considered as an unforgivable sin, in fact -- then talking back to a Deity, when the subject was something they could care less about, was something he could not help doing.

Aphrodite leaned back and raised her flawless eyebrows -- which Stiles suddenly knew how to appreciate -- and funny enough, that expression looked better on her than any of the previous one- as though her motions were designed to look even better than the pose she had done beforehand.

“Hey, that’s not nice,” she reproached in a playful voice. “Don’t develop an opinion about me by your impression with some of the other Deities. Don’t you think you should try me first?”

The Deity got closer to him once again, but this time Stiles put his hands on her shoulders and used a high degree of his strength to push her away before she completely closed the gap between them.

“You may be able to harass me now as much as you wish, and maybe even more than that.” Stiles took his hand away, looking her dead in the eyes. “But I’ll never touch someone who had a hand in the Hales’ fire. So stop this idiotic game like you only came here to feed on my feelings, and let’s get over with this.”

She studied him for a moment before surprisingly inching away from where he was sitting, and her lips formed a worrisome smile which made her seem like the most desirable villain he had ever seen- an ability that might have the most upsetting in Stiles’ eyes.

“Aw, sweety. That’s okay, it’s clear how committed you are of everything about him by the passion that went through what you think were just plain words. I’m wholeheartedly _hungry_ for connections like that, where I wasn’t the one to actively try to complicate them; there’s something about them being untouched, so _pure_. I’m not even one mind it’s with a _Werewolf_ , as you call it. But even though it’s always fun to test those passions out, I guess even _I_ can pity, especially when it only comes from the biggest hero that has ever been to the Olympus- but not from his lover.”

Stiles made himself snort and look away, refusing to let her words affect him.

Her way of speech being much more normal than the rest of the Deities, would not fool him to think she was different from them in more ways than being more down to earth.

“Zeus told you about the potential I found between the two of you,” she started to elaborate without him even asking her to. “When I look on both of your personalities, there’s no greater truth than that. But potential does not mean other things won’t overcome even the need to be loved, as awful as it’s for me to admit. But that’s just how it is with love of the heroes- as great as it is, it’s never even.”

He knew it would be a bad idea to respond to her and let her keep toying with that concept, but he could not let someone say idiotic assumptions about Derek like that.

“I’ve fallen for Derek after getting to know him, and being loved is more meaningful to him than anything.”

“It may touch him more than everything, but it doesn’t have to be the most _important_ priority _._ ” She sighed. “Not just _your_ potential went to waste, you know. Poor Hera worked so hard on separating between the two of you, but it got so boring when you got over the drama for the wrong reasons; because there was always something more important to him than the honour of his family, or even of himself.”

Stiles was less than a second away from jumping on her throat, but perhaps it helped being surrounded by so many things of Derek that he managed to get himself away from the bed just in time, remembering that it was not worth it.

He rubbed his face. “Whatever. Would you now _please_ focus on the point and tell me what I’m sentenced with?”

Aphrodite just hummed. “The punishment will take place when the time comes for it to, don’t worry about it. But when you go, I prefer it being while knowing the truth, and honestly try to make you regret your words. It is funny how quick you came to believe in them, too; even if he forgives you, or as he claimed, refuses to believe there’s a reason to apologize- how could he admit to wanting you so fast after you’ve’ officially cut your relations with his enemies? Derek, the ever-stoic, getting soften just like that, _just for you_?”

Stiles shook his head, positioning himself in front of the closet so he would be able to punch through something in case thing would really go beyond his limit. “You’re trying to screw with me. It’s not gonna work.”

Because he had his doubts, but they were based on one he himself and people he trusted saw- he would _not_ let them be affected in any way by a Deity.

“What? I didn’t say he doesn’t have feelings toward you at all,” she kept her dumb act up. “I just wanted to mention that it’s weird that he didn’t kill the other Alpha, Deucalion.”

Stiles opened his mouth, ready to defend him- but there was no explanation coming to his mind.

Even if Derek had been busy that night of the final clash with getting help for the injured Stiles- why would he only report on Peter, and not do anything himself?

“For a man with visions,” Aphrodite continued, “there was _a_ vision which Deucalion thought of himself, and was sure about it as if he had actually received it as a prophecy. No wonder that he was fated with becoming blind again; but it doesn’t mean he hasn’t utilized his time until that.”

It was hard for Stiles to listen to her, but he could not move or make a sound to stop her and give himself more time to think it over.

But it should not matter, because it was _Derek_ he had to get those answers from; not another manipulative Deity.

“You think that only Gerard heard about Zeus’ declaration? Deucalion was always well connected to the Olympus through his Nymph Mother, and Derek’s own Mother was on good terms with him. She planned to give away a daughter to strengthen their position and be more likeable to us; why not as well plan to get closer to the one who was supposed to be born with that gift? Let’s say, by setting up another one of their own with you?”

Stiles swallowed heavily. Cora’s story made him feel sorry for her, and he did not want to think the same was with Derek- even if he could still make it better for him, in case there was some truth in what unfortunately still made sense so far.

“And, let’s say, Derek tried to get away from that future, just like his Sister, and turned to that girl, Paige. He even made a desperate attempt with another one after that miserable failure, only she also happened to be part of a family which was obsessed with their name. And when everyone was gone one by the other, only Peter was left, who got right back to his mentor role, because getting your good name back is something to start from. Funny Derek never killed him again, even though he deserved to, isn’t it? I guess his bits of advice are too _gold_ to give up on that fast.”

Stiles leaned a forearm on the closet’s wooden door and propped his head against it. His knees were weak, but he had gone through much worse which had tried to keep him down; he would not let this talk take him as well that easily.

“Even if any of this is true,” he stated, although he had to swallow again, “he deserves to get his family fame’s back. As long as the feelings are real, I’m staying.”

“Aw, you cutie. A loyalty as yours is so refreshing every once in a while, after staying in the Olympus for too long. But fame is not what Derek is looking for; neither revenge. He just misses his dead Mother, and both Peter and Deucalion have more memories of her that he does. It’s like they carry some of her spirit in them, and he cannot let go- so he keeps both of them alive. Surprisingly human, right?”

Stiles let a shaky breath out, fighting the nerves boiling inside of him. “Stop circling around it. I’m still not gonna judge him for choosing to go after his Mother’s will to -- ”

“ -- Even if it was sacrificing your divinity to the Olympus?”

Stiles’ next shaky breath got stuck in his throat.

“He misses you being _defenceless_ because that was far easier; but he had to have you tapping into your hidden potential because Deucalion was using his Betas to force him to see how defenceless his pack made _him_ be. Just picture to yourself an identity crisis like that; would you be surprised if he decided that the best way to go through it is by turning into the man he remembers his Mother to want him to become?”

Stiles shook his head ferociously. “No, she wanted him to be a _scholar_.”

Aphrodite hummed. “I guess you’ve never heard about it, but there was always this funny rumour that, since it’s not genetic, divinity is not completely attached to Demigods- and that, if they were to be sacrificed by a professional enough hand, which rarely happens- the divine part of themselves could be separated from them completely and merge with their Deity Parent, thus making them stronger.”

“Stop telling me rumours and start giving me truths,” he hissed.

“Alright, here’s one: The Darach used to be Kali’s Emissary’s.”

Stiles turned to her with perplexity. “Kali?”

“The female Alpha who died while trying to escape the Gigante,” she answered with an annoying patient tone, then turned thoughtful while playing with her hair. “They actually liked each other, Kali and her Emissary. At some point even more than that. Anyway, now that Kali’s dead by something that was sent by a Deity, and the other Emissary, Marin Morrell, has no interest anymore in Deucalion as well…”

He was starting to get what she was trying to make him think, but it still did not mean that Derek was part of that, and he opened his mouth to tell her just so when she made another point.

“Now _you_ tell me truths: What confirmation had you been supposed to receive a day before the Darach first made a move? And who did she go after, when your entreaty was postponed?”

 _Heather_.

He had been supposed to have the Labours already behind him by the time Heather’s party was held, and only Derek and the pack had been aware of that.

But even if Derek had founded out she was also a Demigod, and had no familiarity with her to cultivate sympathy toward her...

“Derek has never wanted a war against us, and the entire time he supported _you_ because he knew the peace and quiet would be worth everything, even hate and suspect from his own pack. But there was one he’s always wanted to please more than all, and getting Zeus’ favour for good by lending him power sounds like quite a good way, don’t you think? All he would have had to do is to make you trust him, and you would have led yourself to commit Hubris and give an excuse for Zeus to be disapproved of you again.”

“It’s Hera,” Stiles insisted with tears in his eyes. “Hera drove him mad. Like she did with Kate.”

Aphrodite cooed. “Oh, don’t mind me, you’re just so pretty when you’re sad. But no, sweety. Hera is too disgusted to mess with Werewolves directly in any way. And even if she did, it would have been only to turn him against you at the moment you were the most vulnerable, before you became protected by the entreaty. Any decision he had made so far was all on him; well, and sometimes with the help of his Uncle. So, what’s more important to you- Heather’s life, or Derek’s way to comfort himself?”

But being that kind of a person fit the picture of _Peter_ ; he was as evil and self-centred not any less than the Deities themselves, and Stiles would have never shown him pity because it was clear just by one look at him that he was the worst to his very core. Stiles had always known that just like he had known there was something hideous about Matt, and nothing inherently wrong with Lydia.

And okay, he had also believed until the very last minute that Allison would have never turned on them for Gerard- but there was _no way_ he could have made the same misinterpretation with Derek, to whom he could have never, even in the very beginning, refer to as ‘ _evil’_.

Love by first sight or not, there was no way Stiles could have been blinded by affection all the way back then; not even if his heart had supposedly known more than him, strongly enough for Aphrodite to see it years before he had known who it had called for.

It had to be as absurd as Derek not fully accept him after everything that had happened the previous night, even with that smile he had worn when Stiles had asked him about the effect of his divinity on all of this.

...Right?

Stiles rubbed his face, and when he looked over the bed again, Aphrodite was already gone.

He sat down on the floor -- not daring to get close to the furniture which had been defiled by the Deity -- and the different thoughts stormed in his mind as he tried to remind himself again and again that everything was as worth as though he had never heard anything until he heard Derek’s version to all of that.

And adding the fact that he was about to be punished in an unknown way- Stiles was _much_ more mature and reasonable than starting a futile feud that easily during a time like that.

After everything, there could not possibly be a misconception he could not talk Derek out of, right?

When he heard Derek’s footsteps beginning to go up the stairs, he hurried to clear out the remaining of tears from his eyes and stood up.

“Sorry it took time, the coffee machine made some problems.” Derek’s voice was heard even before he came to sight, and he sighed even without Stiles’ response. “And _no_ , Stiles. It’s not a complicated technology I can’t deal with. I’m not the only one it’s -- ”

Whether Stiles was doing a bad job trying to act normal or not, the scent of his emotions probably caught up to Derek that he stopped right after taking the last step, and scowled at Stiles while trying to figure out what was the strongest one between Stiles’ sadness and shock.

“Why didn’t you kill Deucalion?” The question jumped out of Stiles’ mouth even before he could think about it.

Derek moved only to put the two cups he was holding on the table, still maintaining a space that he seemed to figure Stiles needed. “Don’t forget your values just because of your regrets, Stiles. One who was turned dark is not necessarily a lost case- just like Jackson and Allison, remember?”

“But you did kill Ennis,” Stiles’ voice was far from steady, and he did not know whether that or what he had said made Derek stare at him as shocked as he did, but he shook his head to make Derek forget about it either way. “Just answer the question. Please.”

Derek’s eyes darted between his for a while before he breathed deeply and let his arms to shield his chest.

“I thought he might have a piece of an information I need- something related to my Mother.”

Stiles’ heart was already ready to drop.

“According to the report, the remains of her body were found without her nails, and I think it’s not by a chance: someone has stolen her claws. There’s a lot hidden in a Werewolf’s claws, much more than their DNA- it’s almost like they contain part of our very soul.” There was a glim in Derek’s eyes for a short moment- but it was strong enough to manifest his hope. “If I can find it, I might be able to speak to her again, through the memories that are kept there. I’ve already been given a suggestion with a high likelihood about the Hunters who might have taken it during my time with Cora’s pack, but they used to know Deucalion too and were able to tell me more about him, so I still have a feeling keeping him alive would turn out as a good decision after all.”

Well, that actually was not that far from the reasons Stiles had suspected to be behind Derek’s decision. And even if letting Deucalion live was a decision he had made on his own- it was not like Stiles would have disagreed with that.

But what was for sure, it was _not_ what Aphrodite tried to convince him to think it was. The excitement of a mourning person was something that was impossible to fake.

“About Ennis,” Derek continued when Stiles did to reacted, “he gave me an entire different instinct, because of memories I have of him being merciless even before -- ”

“ -- It’s fine, it’s not about that, just… I’m fine.”

Derek did not look convinced, and he was thoughtful for a while when something suddenly made him smile like he was biting back a laugh.

“I think I have a good allegory for it: the day I left with Cora, we passed by the lake. She wanted to see it one last time because it’s very nostalgic to her- perhaps the only pure memory that remained for her in the whole town. But there was this _swan_.”

Derek paused for a bit, letting Stiles guess where this was going- only Stiles associated the mentioned animal with another scenario entirely.

“It attacked her, out of nowhere,” Derek continued as Stiles did not show any indication to deduce the continuation of it right; he barely was being able to control his smile, but Stiles could not even focus on that. “And it wasn’t the first time- it did the same the day she returned here, and she didn’t even pay attention it when it got close to her. Anything else that happened to her on her way here was random, but in this case, it was like that swan knew from the start there was something naturally inherited in her that it didn’t like about her.”

Almost like another one of Ares’ birds identified a future enemy to one of his children.

Stiles hurriedly grabbed the still folded sweatpants that Derek had offered to him the night before and had had yet to wear, passing by Derek while doing so- who almost jumped back in surprise if it was not for his annoying Werewolf instincts.

Not that Stiles would have cared if he had tripped and hurt something because of him- Derek deserved to look stupid after making him the biggest fool of them all; Heather had just reminded him her story with Swans not so long ago, how could he have not figured it out _himself_?

It looked like Derek indeed knew him well: he always paid attention to the tiniest of details unless he decided to be sensitive enough to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Derek walked towards him, and Stiles sent at him a hard look enough to stop him in his tracks.

As much as he did not want to have anything to do with him from that point on, he knew he had to say something before Derek would try to physically stop him- and his touch was the _last_ thing he could tolerate at that moment.

“Oh, nothing- I just came to the conclusion that even if I’m half-divine, I’ll never be in your league, in _any_ meaning of it,” he muttered angrily.

Derek indeed stayed in his place, fortunately- only it seemed to be more because the ceaseless tears that streamed down the other’s face.

“Stiles, what are you talking about?” Derek asked softly, but Stiles was past the point to take his bullshit seriously.

“Me?” He laughed bitterly. “It looks like I’m talking too much as usual. Something from the gods seemed to get into me after all and I became _so_ self-centred that I forgot there are two in a relationship, and they both need to have an even chance to speak up. What do you say, Derek? Sounds about right, huh?”

He jumped into the sweatpants ungracefully, realizing he did not have any spare shoes besides the sandals that were thrown somewhere- only he could not care much about either.

“If you need help with finding a topic, then how about doing what you’ve done _wonderfully_ last night and tell me what else I’ve missed? That after feeling guilty for so long from making yourself believe you are a disappoint to everyone around you, you finally have _actually_ made it true for the first time while looking for a way to convince the gods to change their ways so you’ll stop being disturbed by what you feel in vain, yet without overdoing it like idiots like me do?”

Derek was speechless, but he just kept going.

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard _everything_ about that little plan you’ve plotted. I don’t know _exactly_ how it was supposed to go, but I know enough to not care. I’m just baffled by the fact that you refer to us both as non-human, yet you forget we’re not _entirely_ inhuman: you’re not a full-wolf who doesn’t have a conscience, like I’m not a full-divine being who doesn’t know anything about anxiety. But no, why would you care about stepping over someone’s struggle just because your ego won’t allow you get the support you need?”

“Stiles, calm down. I can’t understand -- ”

“ -- It’s nice to hear that, ‘cause I can’t understand it either. I don’t understand _anything_ anymore. Especially not the fact that I’ve insisted so much on my refusal to join the gods, like they are that much worse than humans- when it’s _definitely_ not your wolf side who made you act like a schmuck; and if you were who I’ve thought to be the best example of the greatness of humanity, of what a divinity should be like, in fact- it looks like I’ve been wrong about everything I’ve ever thought about mortals.”

“ _Mortals_?” Derek parroted, as the term he had just used was one only divine beings used, but he himself ignored it for the time being, especially as Derek dared to scowl at him. “Stiles, you don’t make any sense.”

“Because it _doesn’t_ make any sense to begin with! It’s a world without logic, in case you haven't noticed- anyone has their own subjective point of view on things. That’s why, when you can control the death of people around you so it could be in your favour -- ”

“ -- Stiles -- ”

“ -- _HERACLES!_ ”

The way the name thundered almost shook the entire Loft, and even Derek seemed to deliberate for a slip of a second if he should take a step back.

The Demigod panted, both from cry and rage. He did not move his eyes away from Derek, but was not very focused on him either; not that he cared anyway about his reactions or what he thought about everything, and just wanted to unleash all of his rioting feelings at one strike. Derek lost the right to get better than that.

“It’s _Heracles_ for you from now on,” he said after a few moments of silence. “It’s gonna be quite a relief for you, isn’t it? With all those times where you pushed me to search after this _fucking_ name. So there you have it, it looks like you were right again, and I had to keep reflecting about it a bit more. But not because I didn’t listen to you at first- but because of when I started to.”

Then, for the very first time that he would have never believed to come otherwise- he raised his hand against Derek, knocking him out to make sure he would not be followed and that he would have time to get to Heather before anyone else who would be informed about that.

And with that he turned straight to the exit, luckily remembering to get his keys first before heading out.

-

Once he got to his Jeep, Stiles knew he had to get to Heather as soon as possible, although he did not know the best route to there without passing by his house -- which he felt like it was better to avoid for the time being -- but even without being sure exactly where to head to, he just let the road take him.

He kept running the confrontation with Derek in his head over and over again, finding more and more things he should have said and was irritated for not being able to, and how much stronger he should have punched him in the face.

But punching like that required a greater focus on the physical contact, which would have hurt Stiles even more.

That thought only threw him further to the previous night, which its events were suddenly irrepressible, like a whispering voice behind his ear, tenderly restoring everything: the unbelievably talented lips reaching to almost any corner on his upper body, and any part of skin which was raided had stung by that yet had screamed for more once it had been gone;  those rough hands, guiding him so consideringly through the entire progress; Derek’s stare of him, heavy with _want_.

Everything had been just so good, so _sweet-_ better than Stiles could have ever imagined the real thing to be like.

That act alone being able to let the idea to slowly trickle into his mind -- that Derek, out of all people, felt the same about him -- was telling _a lot_ , and being taken back into that moment was like igniting that burning feeling all over again, only now it was actually doing _only_ harm.

It became so bad that he could not see the way ahead anymore through the tears in his eyes, yet continued to fight through that in desperation to get to Heather as soon as possible- only at some point he deviated almost completely from the lane and had to pull over before he lost control over the vehicle entirely.

Fortunately, he was at one of the roads which went through the forest -- now that he was able to notice his surroundings better -- which was empty during most of the hours of the day, so he had put no one else but himself in danger, but his biggest concern was to get safely to his destination anyway so he would be able to act if necessary.

He could have done regardless while being so shaken, though, and so he went out of the Jeep and just crushed down next to it, burying his face on his knees and weeping out everything he had not been able to let out while screaming on Derek, until he was able to get back on the road again.

It was so surreal: why did he just let this keep on, like an idiot? How did he fall into Derek’s ridiculous trap so deeply that he had been overflown with _pride_? Considering the Deities are petty, committing Hubris in their eyes might not have required that high level of it- but just the fact that it had been caused by being so sure about them.

If Stiles had initially chosen to live the moment while dealing with a possible eternal embarrassment later, then how had he escalated _this_ way so quickly?

Because the thing was, he should have expected it regardless; even if there was anything real in it, as according to Aphrodite the basis for it _was_ there whether there was more to it or not- Stiles was not worthy enough in comparison to Derek’s dead family, like no one else had been.

And not that he could judge him for the loyalty for his family, just- how had Derek been able to fake being as perfect as _Notting Hills_ ’ Willaim Thacker while hiding such an obsessive, pointless, creepy motive?

Oh, gods, Stiles was actually going through it.

_Heartbreak._

It was a kind of distress Stiles was sure he was able to avoid, teaching himself to be picky just to get himself away from experiencing that on top of his never-ending grief over his own Mother.

Always wishing to protect those who were the closest to him, he had always known to be careful and keep only a few in that circle of people; especially as somehow it was those people, out of everyone he had known throughout his life, who seemed to go through the most: his Mother, who had died at such an early age by the ruthless hands of dementia; his Father, who had almost drank himself to his own death while trying so hard to relieve the pain through that very alcohol; and there was Scott, from whom Stiles had managed to keep the secret of the truth about his Father leaving the house out of nowhere, but then it had not mattered anymore as the bite had happened.

It all had made Stiles go through sorrow over and over again, but once someone got in there- there was no turning back or any other choice.

But while it had always been reality’s fault, that was the first time the invincible knife had stubbed him directly in the heart by a _person_ , in a terrible precision that he had known before yet felt like a completely different experience.

No one else came close to it- not Lydia, no matter how many times she had turned him down, and not even-

Fuck, what was he still doing there?!

He had rested enough; now he had to get to Heather as fast as he could.

Just as he got up he heard a horn, suddenly realizing he was standing on the road itself- but luckily the car was driving slowly enough to have time to stop, before it weirdly it pulled over behind his instead of continuing on.

A woman came out of it, and Stiles readied himself for getting yelled at -- not that he really had enough patience to deal with something like that at that moment -- but luckily, she seemed more concerned than pissed.

“What are you doing?! Get out of the road, the next car might not see us!” She warned as she approached him and rushed him to the other side of the Jeep, next to the woods. “No matter what made you sit there and wait for it, it’s _not_ worth this.”

Oh, so _that_ was why she looked so shaken; since he had had to just get out of the Jeep as soon as he could, he had not really spared a thought about the fact he had been sitting on the dangerous side; because if he had realized that, he would have moved right away to the safe side, since, with Heather in mind- there was no way he would allow himself wish for anything like that, be it bad or not.

“Jesus, you’re all shaking.” She stroked his back in a failed attempt for comfort. “I have a blanket in the back of my car, so please wait here just a moment.”

“No,” he heard himself saying as she started stepping away.

The woman turned around, her expression already scolding- but he shook his head desperately.

“Your phone,” he murmured, “I- I must do a call. Please.”

Stiles had to ask as the previous night he had not taken his mobile phone but left it in his room, and had no time to waste more than he had already had on making another stop in the way- so even if he could not keep driving all the way to Heather’s house in time, he should at least get some Deputies there.

The lady just stared at him for a moment before nodding and getting her phone for him.

“Dad,” Stiles said as soon as his Father picked up, walking toward the forest to try to get out of the stranger’s hearing range. “It’s me. I need you to send a patrol car to Heather’s house. More than one, actually.”

His Father took a moment to answer, taking a deep breath seemingly to gather patience, as he was forced to become more and more used to that kind of requests from Stiles- but when he finally spoke back to Stiles, his tone became serious as he seemed to realize something.

“Is it about what happened in her Birthday?”

“It may be.” Stiles tried his best to shake away the image in his head of his friend being tied to a chair with clear signs of being beaten. “I- I just need to make sure she’s watched until I get to her. There’s a lot going on, but… Oh, and don’t call Derek, no matter what.”

“Derek? Why not? Stiles, I don’t know how it went between you two last night, but -- ”

“ -- Just trust me, okay?” Stiles insisted a little more aggressively than he had meant. “It’s not about personal issues. So please, just get someone to check on her. I’ll explain everything later.”

When Stiles hung up and turned around to the road again, the woman motioned to him to hurry to the car to get a shelter from the cold. Stiles went toward the door she opened for him to the back seat, to indeed find a blanket lying on the seats -- although being rather weird-looking: dark red and made of satin – and he grabbed it so he could calm the woman as quickly as possible.

He handed the phone back to her, and tried to cover himself, but something in the design itself made him struggle.

“Is it some kind of a wearable blanket?” He asked as he realized there were two holes in it which were the cause to the bother.

“Something like that, yes. Now, I don’t know where you need to get to, but you _can’t_ drive like that.”

“No, I’m fine, really -- ”

Only, suddenly, he was not; the furthest than that in his entire life, actually. He had not even felt that bad during the whole thing with Morrell’s Burden.

Whoa, okay, he was _really_ was not feeling well. What-

It was like the whole weight of the world was focused on his head, and everything else just _burned_ , like he was almost literally eaten from the inside, and the more he tightened the blanket around him- the colder he felt.

He was breathing heavily, so much that he was not even sure if he was experiencing a panic attack or not; but no matter how much agony he was in, he was not losing his conscious- the one damn time he was fucking asking for it.

Only somewhere he knew that once he saw black, it would be over for good.

The problem was that he had no idea what had brought his body to that condition; it was not some violent illness bursting out of nowhere, and yet it affected everything: from his muscles to his bones; nerves and veins alike were about to melt away, given the sign.

As the world became reddish behind his eyelash, and time had stopped to mean anything- he was moved somewhere, and before he knew it, the blanket was taken away from him so he was exposed to the air again -- not that the weather really mattered to him anymore, whether it was still chilly or not -- and he was pushed back to fall on a hard surface.

He was arranged so he was lying right in the centre of it; his sight was still blurry, and he was only able to see lightning dots shining through a green-black background.

Could the thing he was lying on be a tree stump? But since when Beacon Hills’ preserve had such big trees to fit his size?

If he still _was_ in Beacon Hills, that is.

But getting outside its borders meant…

“I’m sorry for taking it away,” a feminine voice was heard somewhere near, “but while I was taking care of everything I had to leave you with it too long that you’ve soaked too much of the venom, and I still need it for future uses. I now have the other bottles you had in your bag to pour more to it, of course, but it’s better to not waste it too much so early on. I’m glad that you seemed to enjoy my cloak, at least.”

There was a sound of footsteps coming and going for a while, but something was pulling him down- and he was spending too much energy just to fight against whatever was attacking his body.

Energy became so limited for him, in fact, that it took him long to even understand what the voice was talking about.

But who the hell could have known about his possession of the Hydra’s venom, where he was keeping it and to be able to get to it enough time in advance to use it against him?

“Oh, you reminded me just now.” A response to his thoughts came even though he was not aware he was pronouncing his wonders out loud. “I’m offended that you didn’t recognize me. We didn’t even go through a whole proper class, that’s true, but after the birds’ nasty attack I was sure you’d still remember your charming English teacher for quite a while after. It was an accident due to my lack of self-control, of course, but by now I have developed a better ability over it with the more power I’ve gained. I was looking forward using it against you so much, especially after being embarrassed in the nursery school with your friend- but then just had to come up with this stupid request. But oh well, at least they let me have an exception, thanks to your Hubris. Funny how easy it was even without much time to prepare.”

It again took him some time to process the words, but this time he did not even try to understand it all, as nothing else had mattered too much beyond the point she had made about them fighting each other in the nursery school.

Could she be…?

“Da- Darach?” Stiles barely uttered the whole world out of his mouth loud enough for the other to hear.

He dragged his head the best he could to be able to look down, and unless he was imagining it- he could see a figure right next to the tree, nodding at him so-called impressively.

“Usually I deny that name, because they call me a ‘dark’ Druid just by worshipping the _right_ Deities, but at least you _do_ catch on after all! Well, with the power to match Ares himself, no wonder you are still able to pay attention to your surroundings. But while I’m certain you’re past the point to be saved, it really is a sign I should hurry up.”

But things still did not make sense to him; even with the magic with changed her scarred face into a normal one, how could he not have sensed the Darach while having Morrell’s powers?

“What... are you?”

She stopped whatever she was preparing to stare at him. “Well, maybe your state isn’t as well as I thought. Have you already forgotten that you’ve told me that yourself?”

Stiles wanted to shake his head, but was afraid it would make him even dizzier. “I don’t ‘derstand how… Works.”

“Oh, that what’s this about? You’re showing interest in me? Ha, so cute of you. Well, let’s just say that I’m able to treat the nature as sort of a bank: I’m able to store in there the powers I get through sacrifice -- although it is not as simple or stable as it sounds, like you’ve experienced yourself with the birds -- and then obtain it back for my use whenever I wish.”

That meant that her essence was a little different every time she had worn natural face- enough for him to not recognize it.

“You see, I didn’t necessarily come to this town for you, but once I’ve heard about your legendary deeds- I’ve known right away that you’d be the _perfect_ sacrifice. But in order to get to your level, I had to make others first, so that night, I was simply following teenagers until I found a house party where I knew I’d surely find a virgin to start off the ritual that would grant me that power.” She groaned. “If only I knew _you_ would be there too.”

Stiles was not half-sure he understood what she was talking about, but either way, he was not jealous at all at his friends who had had to deal with all that mystery on their own in his absence.

“I hurried to leave with your friend once you were separated from her, so I’m not sure I did such a good job leaving the place clean of clues. But I wonder whether it was because of my mistake that you found us, or the currents. From getting to know him, it was surely _not_ thanks to your Werewolf friend.”

Stiles recalled feeling a bunch of currents going beneath the Nursery House; since it was creepy enough that Heather had been meant to be sacrificed where she had spent time as a toddler, whether it was intentional or not, he had not thought of it as a possible clue to use to give to his friends in case they had still not figured it out themselves.

What a _dumbass_.

But that realization did not matter; none of that information would ever be passed to his friends, from the way things seemed like, and he simply wanted to know more about her simply out of curiosity to find what was waiting for him that could be even more lethal than the venom.

And especially as she had said something he could not just go unnoticed.

“Don’t… Dare… Scott…”

Fingers brushed his hair, and if _only_ he could slap them away- but the effect he was under was worse than the Kanima’s paralyzing toxic, which simply made movement impossible instead of _painful_.

“Shh, don’t waste your limited wakefulness like that. You are going to grant me so much in a few minutes, I won’t allow it. Especially not for _this_ kid; if you weren’t there, I bet even that good-for-nothing Nereus could have taken care of him- and he’s the only idiot I managed to threaten into attacking you _without_ my powers. To think he is still bitching over the loss of his seat as a sea Deity when he has never been a strong one to contain the entire sea by himself.”

“Where… Are… Your powers?” Stiles croaked, as she had not even proven her abilities for him before asking him to relate to her snobbery.

“I’m saving them for the decisive moment; I want to end it in one shot, and why tiring myself when both the venom and the Nemeton are doing such a wonderful work with you?”

Stiles frowned -- though it felt like he was doing so the entire time -- but she answered before he could prepare himself for talking again.

“It’s the tree you are lying on right now. It holds a lot of power and secrets, and what has drawn me here- especially after calling to the Oracle for guidance in vain for so long. But then Hera held a tender for pursuing your head, and yours truly was chosen. It could not have been any better for me; I will be thankful for her forever.”

Then it was confirmed: the Darach really was trying to suck up to the Deities; the troubles were _still_ connected to him.

What if it was for the better to lose at that point, when winning difficulties only brought more, and the situation just kept going downhill with no rising no matter what?

No; it was not an option so long he was not the only one at risk. He still had to fight with everything he got, for Heather’s sake.

She seemed to put the last touches to her ritual stage, as she was finally sitting by the tree, leaning on it near Stiles’ head; Stiles rolled his head, a bit, although not all the way to face her fully.

“It may sound petty, but there is another reason to why I chose to use the cloak; it’s symbolic for another disappointment I suffered, this time thanks to _you_.”

Oh, Stiles was just so _eager_ to hear all about that the more the venom was chewing him from the inside.

“A few days before the beginning of the year, I was negotiating in the woods with a Centaur to work for me, but it did not go smoothly, and he tried to attack me; I tried to run away, and just before he got to me- I was found by a jogger in the woods, who also happened to be a Werewolf.”

If she was trying to tell him how she had met Derek and had agreed to help him as she had felt his pain, then Stiles could have cared less.

“He saved me, and I wanted him as mine; but while it would usually take nothing more than my touch to draw his attention continuously to me- I couldn’t twist his mind for some reason no matter how many seconds I kept holding his hands and even reached for his face, even while he was so open and had nothing to block my magic. Later I would find out that he was no other than the famous avoided lover of none other than the greatest hero in existence, and was waiting for you to return from one of your latest Labours.” She trailed her hand through Stiles’ arm, and he was not even able to shift just a little by it. “I wish for no less than the _ultimate_ retribution for and disappointment you made me go through, and that’s why I chose the cloak I wore that day: it carries his very touch as he embraced me when I claimed to be cold, only his inner warmth had failed to reached me.”

Why of course the bastard would attract even crazy people to fall in love with him while working aside him; Stiles did not even care what that was making him.

He then saw her looking up from the corner of his eyes, but did not need to see it at all to know she was smiling.

“Just a bit more- we’re not that far from midday. It would have been much more beautiful occurring during the night, but we don’t have enough time to wait. And despite what it looks like, I have nothing against Derek Hale himself. I didn’t initially want him to lose another loved one in a fire; on the contrary, it pains me a little to think about how tragic that is. Though I have no regrets.”

Stiles had not expected a fire, but the idea really seemed to be the only thing that was able to cleanse the torture of the venom out of him.

Only it was meant to take him as well in the process, and it was still not the time for that.

Fuck, he would not be there to save Heather- and warning his Father may not be enough.

“Didn’t… He… Tell… You?” His voice was even shakier by starting to cry all over again, even though this time it was of course much quieter. “I’m… Not really… His loved one.”

She laughed. “Are you joking? I felt the very power of Aphrodite herself when I tried to touch him, even if it took me time to understand that. She's protective, you see; she wouldn't let such a rare toy like you to be used by anyone else. You think she would waste her time with a one-sided love?”

“Why… Not?”

She clicked her tongue disparagingly. “Such a human way of thinking. You don't get it: one-sided love stories are only dramatic for mortals- for divine ones they are boring; being rejected of fulfilling your love by the object of love themselves is the easiest thing- they will always have the power to force themselves on them. It's not like there's a force of nature or some serious threat in the way. And the bigger the love between the two, the more fun it is. And I completely agree with that.”

So, did that mean Aphrodite had _lied_?

But why would she?

Stiles did not have time to gather more strength to ask that as she immediately stood up following another glance to the sky; then, when she looked down at Stiles again- she burst out laughing.

“I was talking so much about the irony that I forgot the best part! I can do something you needed the help of your Father in one of the Labours to do.”

The Darach raised her hand.

“Let the faulty son by the Deity of storms be sent to Hades through a bolt from the skies.”

A crack in the skies was indeed followed less than a moment after- only, instead of hitting the tree, or whatever she was aiming at- it hit her.

Screaming, the Darach started running all over the place- until she fell down, and that was when the fire started.

It was a bizarre scene, but Stiles soon forgot about it once the flames climbed their way up the tree, faster than he had ever seen fire spreading; it reached so high it was impossible to see the sun one last time, but it definitely felt like he was going to be consumed and sense more of its heat than he had ever felt his entire life.

But for some weird reason, the flames were _really_ taking their time to reach him, in comparison to how wild they seemed to be, almost like the Darach had done a crappy job, which made no sense- unless she had planned him to die only by the heat?

And _fuck_ was it hot; nevertheless, it was still easily more preferable than what he was feeling inside, meaning it could not be it.

So just _what_ was delaying it, with the Darach herself gone? Why was he not even feeling the smoke he was supposed to start inhaling by that point, while his state had not seemed to deteriorate that much ever since he had first felt the effects of the toxic?

It was just the worst, not feeling like he was starting losing his senses the closer he was getting to his death, so it still made him keep fighting aimlessly as he still had a reason, as tiny as it might be, to _hope_.

But even if the flames did not reach him, there was not even a point to try and crawl his way out; was the psychological torture part of the sacrifice, if not the main part- and the cause of the death was him giving up?

It was one thing for the ritual to be completely different than what he had known about it, but why also so _weird_?

A shadow was casted over him suddenly, and Stiles regretted the amount of energy, as small as it was, that he had wasted while turning his eyes to meet those of the figure.

Because it was not a person; it was a _Deity_.

And not just _any_ Deity.

“I would have let you take my daughter, Hebe, as your wife,” Zeus told him, “and be the protector of the Olympus’ gates; but while accepting one offer, you declined the one after that, and brought this fate on yourself: dying while being broken-hearted by a descendant of Lycaon.”

Oh no; oh _hell_ no.

There was _no_ way Stiles was going through this again.

But even if it was just him hallucinating, it did not go away, no matter how much he tried.

It was his end, and as much as he did not want to let someone he cared about to see him dying, his last words -- even if spoken through his eyes and expressions, as he could not breathe out any stronger than his repetitive panting -- should have been witnessed by his Father.

His actual, _only_ Father; not _this_.

Just like Stiles had been with his Mother during her last moments, and hopefully, it avoided Zeus from creeping up on her as well.

What could be worse than sharing this moment with someone who had no problems with giving away his daughter just like that, in favour of whatever use he wanted to make out of her? And even take advantage of the abilities Stiles had developed for the sake of Beacon Hills -- for people he actually cared about -- and use them instead for the needs of his main threat, _the_ _Olympus_?

Seriously, what made Zeus think that he had any right to keep showing his ugly face to any of his disregarded children? It was not like he had at least covered for his bullshit with something nice, like a financial support-

Well, in the other hand, with how it had ended with King Midas- maybe it was for the best to not ask him, no matter how much money had gone for gas, hospital fees and more because of those stupid Labours.

“Nonetheless, you have inspired a change in the way of things,” Zeus suddenly said. “While your death was rightly sentenced for you due to your Hubris, there are more circumstances to acknowledge: your executioner has committed her own Hubris by asking for me to grant my very own force for her given directive, in a manner that had put her personal desire above our will, as well as disrespecting my heredity. Thus, your offing was desecrated.”

So that explained the Darach’s odd, freaky death, along with why the fire had not reached him yet, even while being ready to eat him up alive once the Deity would be gone.

Additionally, if it was for what she had done to Heather- Stiles would have liked her despite the attempt to sacrifice him, just for the fact she had made a joke about Zeus’ defected sperm in her last moments, which was probably the only real reason for him to interfere.

But why did the cancellation of the Darach’s sacrifice matter, when the venom was sooner or later going to take him anyway?

“Usually, at this type of situations,” Zeus continued, “I offer to turn the unfortunate one into a plant.”

Which would make it seems like he was honoured by Zeus, and that was _definitely_ not something Stiles wanted his name to be remembered by at all; as long as he could do something about it, he wanted no association with the Deity besides the irreversible one of coming into existence in this world because of him.

And with the way Stiles felt so rotten and wrinkled, he would not hold on even as a plant for long anyway.

Ugh, if only he could make some kind of a retort aside breathing heavily and grunting, as even his protesting groans did not sound right.

“But punishment must still be served, through another way which would resemble your love with the descendant of Lycaon, instead of a fire.”

Even if Stiles could have swallowed, his throat was dry; it only emphasized the lack of sensitivity and compassion in Zeus’ eyes.

Yep, Stiles _unquestionably_ had made the best choice by not joining them _._

“Thus, the basis to your Hubris shall be taken; I shall confiscate you of your divinity.”

At this point, Stiles did not want to laugh anymore about the Deities’ stupidity- he wanted to _cry_.

Because what the hell was the point in life where the Deities saw losing one's divinity equal to losing most of your family to death they did not deserve?

“Your other self shall become a Daemone and serve as the guardian of the Olympus, while you would be left to the fire’s mercy with a wholly mortal body.”

It was like Zeus had known all along he would get the Stiles’ precious divinity and utilize it to serve for a job he most probably had become tired of fulfilling himself _after all_.

Everything was just so fucked up, that Stiles would not be surprised to hear that all that was currently left from him following the poisoning was his rage, which had to be what his very essence was made of.

“But before that, just in case you survive, I would like to leave you with a final warning: as much as you crave pride and credit, you do not so easily associate it with yourself, or enjoy it for long. But I came to notice there are methods which could dangerously trigger it, to the point of provoking at us, the Deities. You have been warned to be careful of any unforgivable misused of your tongue.”

As if Stiles gave a shit anymore, especially as the remaining of his energy was taken away from him quickly, leaving him with barely enough strength to form words even in his thoughts.

He saw only pictures in his vision: his father, who would be left alone no matter the choice he made, the look of new wrinkles of sorrow on his face; his friends -- his _pack_ \-- he was leaving behind: Scott, Lydia, Allison, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Cora, even Jackson; and he tried, he really, truly try not to let Derek's gaze with his cynical eyebrows which popped into his mind to be one of those visions, neither that nor the way he looked so ridiculous when he got angry that one time when he had discovered a scratch on the Camaro after Erica had let her normally-perfectly-controlled road rage to take her a bit too far.

Stiles honestly tried, but the more he focused in fighting all that he forgot why, so he just let the soft look of Derek’s eyes which he had shared with him last night to give the energy for his heart to have its last beats; let the memory of him covered in his arms to make him feel warm his insides one last time before the cold would take over- and finally to the feel of being cared that way he had been to consume him as the darkness embraced him, and he could sense nothing but the sound of his name being called somewhere from the distance.

-

Dreams came to him in between phases of black or white, and when every once in a while he heard Melissa's voice, or rarely someone else's, declaring to him he was about to have his blood pressure tested or injected -- following by a feeling which fitted the mentioned treatment -- or when someone was holding his hand, he knew he was in that situation before.

It made him convinced that he would wake up fully in no time, just like last time, where he had opened his eyes just a couple of hours following the clash with Deucalion- but each time he had that thought, the dreams would overcome his consciousness soon enough, just for no much to change the next time he became aware of reality.

The bed he was lying on was not his, and for a while even his favourite pillow was missing, but familiar voices always comforted him -- sometimes he could even visualize them -- and so he knew not to panic, even if he felt helpless to go from a hyperactive person to someone who could not react whatsoever.

At one of those times, he could hear quick footsteps getting closer to him, and even recognized the beeps of the Sheriff’s radio between all the other sounds around him.

“Looks like he's still deep in it to me,” his Father’s voice said, and Stiles was confused by that until someone else responded to him.

“But here, look! His heart’s going quicker even in the monitor!” Said next who Stiles recognized as easily to be Scott. “It’s even higher than when we heard it outside! I think he can hear us!”

Stiles had no idea who he meant by ‘ _we_ ’, but he could not move a muscle to try to express it in any way and ask about it.

“Stiles,” his Father spoke a bit louder. “If you can hear us, move your eyes from side to side.”

Only Stiles could not do even that, which was frustrating as hell.

He had no idea what happened to him and what was the date- but what he wanted the most was to just reassure his Father, letting him know that he was fighting for a full wakefulness, if he only could.

It was the most devastating failure in his entire life.

“It jumped again!” Scott cheered. “He can’t move, but he can already hear us!”

“He could all along- but now he _knows_ it’s us,” his Father corrected him, but fortunately he did sound relieved. “At least there are bigger chances now that he won’t be declared to be in a vegetative state.”

“He won’t give the satisfaction to the doctors who didn’t believe he would ever get better.”

This new voice made him wish even more he could move, to let him experience first-hand just how well the training -- which he had been the one to send Stiles to in the first place -- worked for him.

There may be something else shutting him at that moment, but knowing Derek being there made him recall the way he had silenced his logic that night, and the fraud it had turned out to be.

“Wow, why all of a sudden he smells so… angry? Is that anger?”

“Yes, it is,” Derek confirmed Scott’s inspect in a dry voice, which matched his soul very much in Stiles’ eyes. “It’s probably because of me.”

 _Probably_.

Derek huffed as though he could tell what Stiles thought, then there was a sound of a chair being dragged backwards and footsteps leaving the room.

“Scott, do you mind leaving me with him for a few minutes?” His Father asked as soon as Derek could be heard out of the room, which disappointed Stiles a little since that was the only way he could somehow communicate with him.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” came the answer with another sound of someone retreating, and Stiles felt a figure being shaped on the mattress beside him, following by his hand being wrapped in warmth just like that time they went fishing together and his Father put his big palms on kid Stiles’ smaller ones as he taught him how to hold it right.

And now they _were_ there, sitting by the river- although with no fishing rods, but with _joysticks_ , and they were playing some weird, old designed video game which could be seen reflected on the face of the water, with sound effects and everything.

“He only comes to fill in when the rest of us can’t,” his Father explained apologizingcally. “Today he was here so I could go to Christmas dinner at Melissa and Scott’s, but otherwise it’d be either me, Scott or one of your other friends, including those two who were kidnapped. Even Jackson offered to help, even though I don’t think it’s the kind of face you’d be thrilled to wake up to either. But it’s nice to see how they all formed into quite the nice group, all thanks to you. You have a lot to catch up to, but with how you connected everyone without even being there, I bet it won’t take long.”

It was hard to believe it was Christmas already, but what really annoyed Stiles the most was the chance he would not get to enjoy even _that_ holiday properly.

Stiles did not know how much time had passed since the last time he had hung out with them normally, but he truly missed them all so much; he had to know what happened between Scott and Allison and Lydia and Jackson, how Danny was doing and just to hear about anything else that had happened in their individual lives overall.

“ _How are they?_ ” He tried to ask his Father, but in vain; the other’s gaze was directed into a point far away from him, and even waving his hand in front of his face did not help.

“You should expect some hard time from Lydia, though,” the Sheriff laughed. “She did _not_ like to have to drive herself all the way to the department and scream at me in the middle of it, in front of everyone, on the behalf of someone who had just celebrated the end of his shenanigans. But you mainly need to give her explanations about Eichen House, because I think something in herself still blames her for you going and hospitalize yourself in there just after you two had talked.”

Thinking over the order of events, he could understand why she saw it that way; it was the very evening following that afternoon they had spent together in her house, where she had pushed him to discover about his feelings for Derek- had been where he had put himself in there. As far as he could remember, they had not talked about the required preparations for his remaining Labour at all- which had been exactly what _kept_ him from losing his sanity even before being locked in that disturbing facility, and it hurt as hell to know that she thought the exact opposite effect had been left on him.

If only he could just talk to her; _any_ of them.

“I do hope she’ll forget about it once she hears the story from you,” the Sheriff continued. “I’m really glad that at least I didn’t allow any of them to visit you in there. Before this incident, I thought there could be nothing scarier than seeing my son so drugged that he barely recognizes me or cares to speak to me- almost like you had early symptoms of…”

Stiles did not need him to finish his sentence to know what he was talking about; along with his rage outburst just a few weeks before that, no wonder the memories of _this_ had gone through the other’s mind.

“I don’t want you to feel bad, that’s not why I’m telling you all of that,” his Father’s voice started shaking, and Stiles patted his shoulder in the hope something of that was getting to him outside in the real world. “I just don’t _understand_ ; why making you go through all those nine circles of hell, just to prove you can still make out _alive_? Haven't you already showed them enough that you’re too good for this stupid palace of theirs? Is _this_ why they keep you go through this over and over again?!”

The Sheriff gasped into his fist, like he always did whenever he wanted to control his anger- and Stiles had nothing to say to him even if he could have been heard.

He stayed like this for a little longer, even as he spoke again.

“You know, there was a moment -- a regrettable, one that would never repeat itself moment -- where I thought they _did_ care, even if only rarely: it was in the day your Mother died; I arrived too late to the hospital, remember? I came from an extended shift, after dealing with a last-minute call. But the thing is, I _had_ been given an advance warning signal, and everyone would have understood if I had asked to leave early; yet something in me still refused to believe in gods, and I hadn’t listened to this girl who had told me to go see her just before she died herself.”

Stiles swallowed. They had never talked about that day, but after making him go through almost the same thing, there was no wonder it felt easier for him to talk about it; his life did not give him a choice but get used to that situation.

Which meant he had not blamed his Father for that mistake for a second, of course; it had been difficult enough only to believe his Mother had been about to be _gone_ , and unlike the Olympian world- this was not an idea possible to ever be fully processed.

“For years I’ve thought it was _them_ who talked through the girl, but after hearing about Lydia, and spending enough time here with time to think about it- I don’t believe this anymore. She must’ve just been a Banshee.”

Sounds about right; although, remembering his reactions to Stiles’ explanation on all the other supernatural beings he and the others had ever encountered, he was sure even this little realization had made him want to join Stiles in his coma.

His Father had suddenly snorted after a short pause, as though he had purposely left time for where Stiles’ sarcastic comment should have been inserted. “You do know I miss you badly, but I gotta be honest with ya: I’ve dreamt so much of being able to talk to you while you’re able to listen, but without the ability to snark back.”

Stiles bet he did, but was secretly a little glad as well he could not blurt something that would have ruined that moment for him.

“But if I knew what you have to go through to finally shut you down, I would have suffered centuries of your nonsense. The peace and quiet you’ve organized for us are not that enjoyable without getting a headache so bad that it feels like my head is about to be blown by your chattering.”

Oh, how noble of him; maybe Stiles was too fast by considering understanding his feelings _._

The Sheriff sighed. “You must want to know what happened that day, right? All the mess started right after your call; Heather was at school, by the way, and no one was at home. But I guess it was the Darach anyway you were talking about and not someone else; hopefully, at least. Everything has quietened down ever since the fire: even the FBI has finally been convinced that the so-called terrorist attack was done by that woman, Jennifer Blake, and that she was the one to kidnap you out of Eichen House to later try to sacrifice you in the woods. Even Scott’s Father was here too, which, honestly, was the biggest pain in the ass of all. Well, he’s still here, but just because Scott and he are trying to work things out, so for now, my position is safe again. It was _their_ job to interrogate every new person to move to the county during that year, after all. But then you’ve solved everything for them within a day.”

Stiles rolled his eyes; he hoped for Scott’s sake that Mr. McCall had indeed changed for the better, but was glad that at least this time he would have the ability to teach him one last lesson within the name of his best friend, just in case he ever tried to do another thing that was calling-the-cops worthy.

But he forgot his irritation quite quickly, seeing the pride in his Father’s smile, even if it was not the real thing but a vision of it, designed by the tone of his words.

“I have no idea how you managed to do that, but at some point, her phone suddenly went from untrackable to having signal again, so I could track her car down; she apparently counted on her magic to disrupt out attempts to locate it, and didn’t take out the battery. Everyone was already out, scattered around the town while looking for you, so I checked through everyone’s phones who was the closest to that point, and, well- Derek was. So, despite what you asked me, I had no much choice but rely on him. It was his idea to bring you to Deaton first, too, which turned out to be the right choice considering the poison that no hospital could possibly have an antinode to, that only those gods up there know how your body had held on with for so long.”

It did not seem like Derek had confessed anything to the Sheriff about his relation to the whole thing -- he had not talked about the Darach’s motives to go after him specifically, after all -- and the Sheriff probably did not suspect a thing since it was Derek who had apparently saved him; all in all, Stiles hoped it meant Heather was saved for the time being as well. Even if that time he had not known the call could have been his last words to his Father, he was glad that at least he had managed to deliver what could have been a critical message.

But why had Derek done it, though? Had he expected the Darach’s failure after Stiles had found out and had acted like this like some sort of plan B, so he would be able to silence Stiles’ suspects once more?

If that was the case, he was far more scaringly similar to Peter in more aspect than Stiles had thought.

“As for Blake herself- hopefully that was the last time a body in the woods would turn my life upside down. Ah, by the way, it’s not even her real names anymore. They found documents that she had changed her names a couple of years ago, both her first and last one. Another one with a name complex, how about that?”

Stiles _truly_ did not want to know more about that.

His Father sighed again, more tiredly this time. “I swear that everything in this town would’ve been much easier if instead of all those troubles, one after the another, it would’ve summed out with one, simple alien abduction. _This_ was the closest crazy thing I expected to have to deal with when I was elected to this job.” He caressed Stiles’ arm. “And I can’t be gladder that you chose to stay here to go through all that craziness with me.”

Stiles hoped his Father sensed as well the smile he was sending him back through his vision, which its setting had apparently changed to their living room at some point.

“But there’s another decision I think we need to speak about- not that I know the explanation of it myself, when Derek himself didn’t get to receive it.”

No muscle in Stiles’ face moved even in the imaginary realm, yet his Father probably could sense his tension.

Was there a way to have his brain shut off to the deepest point of the coma again?

Otherwise, his Father had to be joking- he did not expect him to sit through that conversation while bedridden, with no way out, right?

“First, I’ll have to start with an apology, of course. That night when you were trying to tell me about your sexuality, even if you were half-covering the truth for the reasons of you being in that club- I’m sorry for shutting you down right away. Well, I still think you wouldn’t have dressed like that if you wanted to attract someone, but I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Lydia was very helpful with that, by the way. She even told me that to the ancient Greeks, male lovers improved the image of their heroes, so it was only expected your best match would be with one. Not that I use it as an excuse to accept what I would have anyway. But, of course, it’s more than about your sexuality.”

But wait, no! Just _why_ could they not keep talking about his sexuality? Or anything else, really?!

“Whatever went down between the two of you, it better _not_ be the fact that you have only shared the bed when you went to sleep, and that he did not let you make him forget you’re under 18, and a citizen of our great California state. I wish I had a Werewolf's superpower so I could confirm that, of course, but he seemed serious enough about that.”

Ugh, even _that_ kind of a father-son talk was better than the speech that was about to come.

He sure hoped that Derek at least suffered when _he_ had gotten it, though.

“You already know that your Mother was as weird as you, but I don’t think I’ve ever told you that she was the type of person to wake you up on the middle of the night, suddenly having to talk about something random. It was usually about sudden ideas, like what people sometimes call ‘shower thoughts’- but one night she really surprised me when she started telling me about of how she pictured you with someone, once you grow up. Both of us didn't expect any less than someone problematic, that’s for sure- you may not be a rebel teenager, but you do like to go for unlikeable things in any situation just because this is your true nature. So you wanting to see a twenty-something years old Werewolf, well, it wasn’t that big of a surprise like the discovery that your type is quiet and serious.”

While those two traits had not been the ones to surprise Stiles the most to find attractive about Derek, he was glad at least his Father had not known more to have more material to wonder about.

“But I thought about it, and about how he refuses to leave your side even when someone comes to replace him, like he doesn't trust anyone to be able to keep an eye on you so you won't run into the fire again. You should have heard the shouts that were happening one time when he caught Scott drifting to sleep, even though both of them were in the room with you.”

Stiles did not know how to react to that information.

But why should he react at all? Derek wanted something from him, so it should not be surprising he wanted to keep an eye so closely on him. If he had initiated a making-out session with him, it was no wonder he would become desperate for making sure Stiles would not try to get away before he talked him out of his deductions.

Not that Stiles would ever do it- he had to make sure no one would hurt his dear ones in order to extort him to do whatever it was.

“I know you don't want to talk about it with me out of all people. Hell, I can almost hear all the excuses you'd throw on me right now, frantically denying everything.”

About time his Father realized that; not that it was going to matter to him anyway.

There was a pause, presumably for the Sheriff to think more about it, before he found the way he wanted his point to be delivered by.

“You know, one of the main reasons for car accidents, somewhere between alcohol and weather, is agitation. As a Deputy, I’ve interviewed a lot of people whose partners were involved in car accidents following a bad fight. Some were actual bastards, of course, but for the most part, the look they had on their faces when they looked at the other one lying there on the hospital bed- of course there was a lot of guilt and fear, but there was also so much _shock_ in the realization of how such a stupid, meaningless issue had caused that much effect on their loved one, so much that it could have taken away the chance they still had together.”

Only Stiles did _not_ want that as a reason to fight on living.

He _should not_.

“What I’m trying to say is- I saw that expression too many times to mistakenly recognize it on Derek's face. So even if you aren't quite together- I know that during that night you definitely showed some signs for wanting him back, so he knows you don't really hate him.”

And that may be the most painful part: Stiles was furious with Derek, hating him from the depth of his guts.

...Only not really.

He was too loyal to his Father and friends to let his feelings to someone interfering his worry and will to protect those he cherished the most at any cost; but what if he would not be able to completely forget him, after the taste he had had of their potential which would never be achieved with anyone else? How could he look into his Father's eyes knowing a part of the same heart which loved him so much was longing at the same time to a man who could probably kill him in a heartbeat, as long as he stood in his way to get what he wanted?

What if Stiles could not forget about him entirely without something extreme, like having a Kate-sort-of-incident of his own?

“Whatever misunderstanding you two had, you should forget all about it. This world is full of crap, and it's not gonna skip on the two of you. But if, in between all that, you're still able to find someone who cares for you enough to take some of it on himself- there's no reason for you to be miserable on your own with no one who is worth to suffer it with. That what I said to all those couples, and that what I want you to think about, if for just this one time you’ll agree to stop being so stubborn that you only pretend you take seriously anything that I say.”

Only Stiles bet those couples had not gone through the same crap he had had, where one of them wanted to use the other for making their dead relatives happy.

“I’m serious, Stiles. I even dare to compare it to all the things I’ve blamed you with back when I used to drink.”

That was really not fair, because _of course_ nothing had to be taken seriously when it was simply his way to cope with grief; fuck, he was _so_ going to get at Derek later for playing with him so well he was making that stupid, nonsense comparison.

“Well, according to your heart rate, at least it means that I haven’t just talked most of this to myself and will have to repeat it once you wake up. But I’ll let you go back to rest so you’ll be able to get even better as soon as possible, because a man can have so much of getting annoyed without being able to annoy right back.”

He was right; if it was not for that recent declaration, Stiles would have _so_ pretended he heard nothing after the other two had left.

The Sheriff sighed. “You got everything quiet again, like you always do, now it’s time for you to fill it back with your noise.”

Stiles shook his head, and hugged the figure of his Father, who real-life kissed his forehead, almost as in return.

“Come back to us soon, kiddo.”

-

At the times after that, Stiles could have gradually responded by more and more levels- until the progression was finally enough to be sent home, where Mellisa kept giving him daily visits, of course.

He was even officially released from Eichen House, after a few so-called special visits Ms. Morrell had so-called paid to him; Stiles was still surprised she agreed to do to him that favour, but hoped more than everything that it did not mean he was owing for her another trade.

Unexpectedly, he still retained his strength: it was proven during one occasion where he was trying his hardest to get himself off of the wheelchair, and the metal handles were completely bent under the power he stressed into them. Since he received it unnaturally from Hera, it appeared to not been taken away along with his born divinity.

It was especially surprising considering how weak he felt; since most of his body had been affected by the poison -- while his vital organs had miraculously not been reached until the very end -- it would take some time before he could feel like himself again, at least if he really had never been aware of his divinity part, not even subconsciously.

At any case, during the first days he had to sleep on the sofa on the first floor, so he could get by himself to wherever he needed with the wheelchair throughout the day for any other need he had, besides going to the shower- but even if he could not wait to the day he would truly get back to normal, he was so glad to finally be home.

But even when that day came, he was not shocked that he did not feel like he was able to stay that for as long as he needed, with no rush; his body may be able to work through all the trauma it had suffered, but his mind still refused to stay peaceful.

He had always been an anxious person, but these days it had become worse than ever; no matter how much his friends told him about the completely normal life they finally got to have at school again, something in him still doubted it, like there was something everyone was missing and only _he_ could notice, once he had the chance to get out and look for it.

Something _had_ to be out there, needed to be found, needed to be stopped.

And while he could try distracting himself while awake -- by watching episodes of random shows over and over again, since he kept getting out of focus, even while biting at almost any point in his palm -- he kept waking up at night from sleepwalking by crashing to the floor, after his unconscious mind would fail once more to carry his vulnerable body to a patrol around the city; that was almost always followed by panic attacks, as the pain made him realize just how unhelpful he would be even if there _was_ something happening. Even during the day, his heart rate kept skyrocketing a few times during every hour of the day.

Morrell was right: he was eager to have her powers again, and perhaps that why she had helped him during that time; only he knew he did not have the ability to deal with the Burden anymore, at least not for as long as he would want to, before the whole world would fall apart anyway.

But what was truly the worst was whenever the constant tension from everything that had already been over -- without him overcoming it -- converted into nightmares of not having his divine fighting talent to get through those situations with everyone alive, as his strength alone was not close to being enough, which constantly made him waking up his Father with his screams.

At least when he had them during nighttime, since he had to sleep multiple times throughout the day, with not much control over it.

Considering the reasons for his state were all related to the supernatural, he knew that most of the chances they would have to get him into Eichen House again once he physically healed, with not many chances to find a closeby therapist who was in the know- but the Sheriff had other plans.

Stiles was already back in his room by the point, but still without leaving the house for over a week.

Still, he had the right to decide on his terms when _and_ if to have that encounter.

“From what you’ve told me, it’s the main reason for you to get into a fight-or-flight mode all the time,” his Father pointed as he tried to convince him to give it a chance. “It can’t go on like that, you two need to work things out.”

“The only thing I need from him is to go see a professional,” Stiles retorted dryly- which was a tone that had become more common for him to use ever since waking up, rather than his usual sarcastic one. “It may look like the best option we have is a support group with each other, that it’d be helpful for the both of us to talk with someone who had a similar experience, but the last thing I want to give him is that classic line you get when you finish your story.”

Stiles had let no one up until that point to talk with him about Derek- both because there was so much else to share and discuss, and also because Stiles had refused to see the night between Derek and him as a more important and urgent issue than anything else. He had only informed those who were associated under Scott’s pack about the possibility of Heather still being in danger, and had not elaborated further.

But even while recalling what the Darach had told him about this- Stiles was still not ready to back down just yet. As an Alpha, the man in question may be relatively more civil than Peter, and not go savage when it was not about his family, but for someone who had suffered from loneliness like he had had- it _was_ possible.

Because no matter how much it affected Stiles’ health, and how much the continuous high blood pressure was going to shorten his life- he had already decided to continue the fight so long there was some sanity left in him, and he was only mentally burnt out.

His Father squeezed his leg from above the blanket. “I know it’s going to be a confrontation more than anything, but you need to unload all that suspense or it will eat you from the inside before you get better enough to carry out what you really want to do about it. I won’t let it get too far, I promise. I’ll be right behind the door.”

“Ha. You mean where _he_ is at right now? I know you already invited him.”

His Father gave one last long look before he got up from the bed and opened the door for Derek to get in, then left them the both of them on their own- or allegedly so, as he had claimed.

Derek, wearing a cotton jacket for a change, leaned against the table, arms shielding his chest the same way he had last stood in his room so many months ago, where he had first given him the research about his name as a stipulation for letting him join the search after Erica and Boyd.

Stiles himself was sitting on the centre of the bed just as back then, although with no comics in hand and without any shit to give to be in a risk to be startled and flail to the floor anyway.

But it was that careful, stiff patience in Derek’s scowl that annoyed Stiles the most- like he knew he was about to be hurt, and willing to act as Stiles’ punching bag, as it was for good cause.

 _Fuck_ his good cause.

“You're lucky I can't move too much right now, you know. You better seize this moment, because once I get back to myself you're done, for good. And no stupid god will be able to stop me.”

“For someone who can’t move, it’s a shame you can still move your mouth just fine,” Derek commented. “Remember they can hear you, and are extraordinary temperamental.”

“Well, I’m like this because I’ve already made that mistake, so I’m well aware of it; but looks who’s talking- if not for that, I wouldn’t have ever found out that for someone so quiet, you apparently know to use your mouth just fine yourself to seduce me,” Stiles bit back.

The shadow of a smile disappeared upon Derek's face, and surprisingly enough he broke their eye contact by looking down, of all places.

Where he should, of course; he should feel ashamed for what he had attempted with Stiles.

Yet Stiles could not ignore how his heart clutched at that sight, as though he still owed him to hear an explanation. That was just how lame he was, so it seemed, and why he should be worried about the next words that would come out of Derek’s mouth.

Eventually, Derek rolled his head as he sighed, before returning to look at him again. “I had to come to make sure you're hurt by me for the right reasons, and not by whatever story you were told.”

Stiles could not believe he actually admitted it.

“Huh, so you mean I _do_ have a real reason to be hurt by you, after all, which I'm not aware of because you _did_ hide something from me?” He smiled sarcastically. “That's just wonderful!”

“I _didn’t_ hide anything from you, Stiles, and I was completely honest with you that entire time we’ve spent together. I’m simply trying to figure out what it was that I did wrong that made you react like that: I leave the room with you still feeling awkward by gripping me in your sleep, and just a few minutes later I come back for you already being convinced that I can’t be trusted, because something made you believe your friend was supposedly in danger?”

“How is that only _supposedly_ when the Darach herself declared she was after the two of us because, as Demigods, we were the best sacrifice she could have?!” Stiles flared. “But she couldn’t have done that without a backup, so how lucky for her to be saved from a Centaur by someone close to me enough?”

Derek’s breathed deeply, finally truly uncomfortable, although he forced himself to maintain eye contact with Stiles. “It’s true that I’ve saved her, during the weekend you were in the Canary Islands. It was a great mistake by me for not sensing her dark aura, or at least question her more.” His scowl deepened as he turned determined again. “But the reason I didn’t tell you about that was that you had too many things going on; I was worried about you. Why would I have anything against you?”

“Because you’re no better than Peter!” Stiles asserted in return. “Even if you don’t want it only for yourself like him, but for your family’s lost honour as a whole, admit it: something of his insanity and arrogance got into you, and so long you have no use of us, you want us _gone_.”

Derek stared at him lost for words for a moment, which Stiles was mostly grateful for as he could rest a bit from going almost all-out on him.

The Alpha pushed himself from the table to a straight standing position, although his face seemed so shaken that it was a wonder that he could keep himself with no support. “Why would you think that I would become something like that?”

Stiles hardened his jaw as he kept glaring at him, ignoring the little voice the question was directed at him with. “Aphrodite told me; for once her ability to see into someone’s heart will end positively.”

The day the had talked at Beacon Hills’ lookout, Stiles had dismissed right away the option that Hera had turned Derek insane like she had sometimes had with Stiles; but then they had been talking about the Deities’ interference, and Stiles did not believe he should see himself as a hypocrite for thinking it was something that could have happened to Derek by a mortal’s influence.

Derek looked down, body completely loose as it was rocking a bit in his place and mouth hanging open like he was debating if to receive those hard words by taking a step back- until his shook his head to himself and returned to look at Stiles steadily.

He stared at him thoughtfully for a couple more moments before he decided to comment on another topic: “You saw her image when I was gone from the room, right? Then it couldn’t be her. Gods can’t harass you inside Beacon Hill’s borders according to the regulation, and my building is well inside the territory.”

Stiles did not like the way it was going to, but they would have to get through that point before turning the spotlight back to the actual evildoer among them.

“Like I said, I’ve made a declaration I shouldn’t have made right before she appeared, and Hubris is a sin that’s above any law and arrangement they make.” Stiles swallowed, and let himself break his gaze from Derek just for a few seconds to be able to collect himself before the shame would overtake his confidence. “Everyone else in Beacon Hills was and is still safe, but at that point I wasn’t anymore, until I got the yet another punishment that was waiting for me. That’s how Jennifer managed to take me to that Nemeton tree, because _of course_ we conveniently have a neutral point in the preserve; so, she was chosen to take care of me, just to make a bad choice of words herself.”

That was more than he had told anyone about that day; he had hinted about that when the rest had joked on how easily he had dealt with a problem they had faced for long months, but he could have never told just what exactly had led to that.

“What did you say that caused that?” Derek’s asked with a gentle tone, but it only reminded Stiles that his Father had been close to losing him because of _Derek,_ before Stiles had been exposed to the conspiracy, just as much as he had because of the Darach who had decided to go ahead and sacrifice him by herself- and he snapped back to an attacking mode.

Because while Stiles was too feeble to even let himself to talk with his hands like he normally did- his cold tone was also effective to carry out his threat.

“Something I believed too much in considering it’s not even real, so I’m not going to repeat that ever again unintentionally, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he quickly concluded that subject before moving on right away. “But while that’s already behind us, with only my divinity gone, why don't we get back to how you took the phrase ‘ _do to your heart's content’_ to the next level?”

Derek threw his head back in disbelief, returning to look at him with a short wryly smile. “So everything you’ve thought about gods isn’t relevant anymore? Aren’t you better than letting your insecurities make you see things the wrong way?”

Stiles barked a surprised laugh. “ _Insecurities_? I may have been offended a little, but don’t say that like I care about my status that I’d take the risk and do stuff without thinking it through; I remember too what happened when that was the case with Scott last year. So no, you idiot, it’s not about any of my fucking insecurities- it’s _Heather_! She was in a fucking danger!”

“Only she _wasn't_.” Derek’s face remained assertive, which irritated Stiles even further. “You’ve always talked about letting all the opinions be heard and hearing both sides of the story, yet you don't act according to your own words.”

“I _tried_ , but I had no time for that! As far as I knew, every second counted!”

“You also know me and the gods better than believing something like that!”

Stiles had to calm down his breaths before he would lose consciousness in the middle of the fight by overworking his heart rate.

But it just made him so angry, the way Derek’s words implied that he had not denied an option like that at first, like he had decided by himself that Stiles had accepted everything the second it had been told to him, and then he had even gone as far as blaming him as well for letting his _insecurities_ to disrupt his judgement?

In any case, he was missing the main point.

“If I shouldn’t have believed her, then I shouldn’t have believed that you wanted to do anything with me.”

Derek’s lips were pursed determinedly, but after searching between Stiles’ eyes he walked to one of the far corners of the room; from his expression he looked forcibly thoughtful, trying to rethink everything despite his certainty in his point of view.

But Stiles already knew the real answer; it did not matter if Derek turned out to have split personality, or if there were some effects of the full moon on him after all: thanks to Hera, life had fucked Derek up, and had done that badly so, that even the supposedly best lover he could have ever had was having nothing left to contribute but his very own life, and whether Aphrodite had presented it to Stiles correctly enough or not, it did not change that fact.

After respecting Stiles’ perspective on things and trying to reconsider the whole thing -- _not_ that Stiles cared how it was a demonstration of respect -- Derek turned back to him with a new challenge in his eyes.

“You think I want you just because something someone _else_ has said about me?” Derek’s tone came low, but it was clear enough in the heavy silence that prevailed in the room. “You think I’d let anyone decide for me who to care for or how I see them, _just like that_ , after they stated something about me?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say you don’t _care_ , just not for the right reasons. You need me alive -- ”

“ -- You’re my Anchor, Stiles.”

Stiles gaped for a long moment, then almost choked on laughter; and there he thought that he had known the way Derek was thinking so well that nothing could surprise him, and especially that nothing _that_ bizarre would be mentioned in an attempt to make his tough façade falter.

Although, if he was honest with himself, it was hasty from him to believe that Derek would reach the memory of his family once the screw got loose enough, and forgot entirely that it worked differently for Werewolves, as losing their mind meant first and foremost losing what kept their instincts grounded.

But for _him_ to use his heart mate as his Anchor? Derek your-crush-on-Allison-is-the-worst-hazard-of-all Hale?

Not that it should even matter, but-

“ _What_?” Stiles barely breathed the question out.

“Whatever they see us as, you’re the one to keep me from becoming the image of me you’ve just described. In the beginning, I had to have something that would help me with the waiting until the right time to discharge my primal animal rage, so I used anger as a reminder for myself how things can go wrong when I’m out of control. But I don’t have it anymore, and now instead I’m letting the two murders of my family to get away, because there is a new reason to why I can go now into any fight with full confidence that I’ll be pulled back when it gets exaggerated- and it’s you, the one to finally help me to think on the empty future after I act in revenge.”

For the first time, Derek let himself getting close to Stiles, and he kneeled right beside his bed; Stiles himself was too astonished to react.

“You found Scott’s Anchor, then those of Boyd and Erica. So please tell me: if mine isn’t you, then what is it? Because, until then, I can’t let my Anchor think that the best way to avenge my family is to destroy what keeps me in control; what keeps my pack, _everyone_ glued together.”

Said on anyone else, Stiles could have seen why Derek would choose a person like that to be his Anchor; he figured that keeping it together _was_ the treatment a good Anchor should give.

And while it made sense that Derek’s current Anchor was different than from a year ago, as he had changed himself- how could _Stiles_ be that for him, when it was Derek who had always shaken Stiles out of his hysteria during fights? Even if Stiles had been there during most of his recent hardships, what had he ever done to Derek directly to replace a feature so critical to his survival?

The frustration was tiring Stiles, and while by that point of exhaustion Stiles would have just let the sleep take over- he was fighting it so Derek would not get out of this conversation with the wrong assumption.

He shook his head, and kept his gaze away. “Sucks to be you, then. I don’t see a way I can help you with that, or a reason to. So can you keep those lies to yourself and just go?”

Derek exhaled heavily. “I know it’s hard to believe when I can’t prove it like Scott did with Allison. There are so many things that annoy me about you that I really don’t get how can you be the ultimate choice for me. And that night confused me too, because I did feel less in control, in some way. My judgement was vague, I made a step and almost stretched it too far- something I wouldn't do with a clear mind. It felt too good and easy to be real.”

Stiles huffed weakly. “And just _how_ is that less likely than me being your Anchor?”

“Because it is not likely for me at all to open up to anyone like I’ve done with you. It takes a lot more than a love magic, if such thing exists, which might have made me more attracted- but not being able to talk about things I couldn’t share with any of my Sisters. I was afraid I’d become even more of a burden to them if they knew, but you’ve stayed aside me longer than I expected you to have, and didn’t judge me at all to the point you helped me to finally move on. Simply adoring a person, as idiotically obsessively as it might be, wouldn’t have been enough to make me admit to someone stuff like that- but only because I trust that person by deep instinct.”

It looked like all of Stiles’ will to fight had been spent on those damn Labours until the very last drops- that was the only explanation he had to why he was slowly beginning to budge, while knowing that he would only be able to use others’ help if he just kept a stand on what he knew until he could find a satisfying proof.

How ironic was that _Derek_ was the only one who would have listened to him even without it; maybe that was why Stiles was failing, like it was harder than anything else he had been through.

He could only act like this was not the case, to not give Derek hope no matter what.

“It only makes your desperate plan to make me trust you so you can use me later for other things that are weighing you down to be even more vicious,” Stiles responded as coldly as he could.

Derek took a few moments to ready himself, like otherwise he would start to stumble over his words.

“If I’ve been using you, then it was by not telling you earlier that you’re my Anchor. I’m not going to defend myself over that. But that, and every time I _did_ behave shittily in the past, are the only reasons you should be angry with me.”

“Stop treating that like me being angry with you is the problem -- ”

“ -- You can stop worrying about Heather as well, because hurting anyone of you would’ve made the opposite impression on my Mother. And no one else is in danger anymore: Gerard, the Alphas, the Darach, the gods, even Peter, in some way, are all gone, thanks to you. and those who will dare to come after them won’t be anything special that won’t be away in the blink of the eye. It’s a waste for you to stay on guard.”

Stiles played with his blanket, because for that topic there was no use trying to play bigger than he truly was. “It’s not going to be the same. I bet even my Aura is gone.”

Derek shrugged in the corner of the eye. “I still see it,” he said in a tone that made it clear he was smiling. “Even more clearly than before.”

Stiles turned to him with a frown, and faced the other direction right away the moment he noticed Derek’s bright eyes, which tugged something in his guts in a way he wished it would not have had. “Seriously, would you _stop it_?” He grimaced in irritation.

“Stop what?”

Stiles groaned, although he was too tired to respond as repulsively as Derek deserved to be reacted to. “You’re talking like all your wolf senses can't catch the way my body screams _want_ whenever I'm around you. As if the fact I can't hide those things from you isn't bad enough; I don't need to be given false hopes on top of this.”

It was just like almost a year ago, when he had not trusted Derek at all and had wanted to avoid him more than anything, to not letting Scott getting close to him, to _hate_ him- yet every time they had had to work together, he had forgotten all of these altogether. Suddenly, all he had wanted was to get Derek's attention, impress him with his knowledge; soaking it all in as he starved for this treatment more than anything without even knowing just how much.

Looking into those hazel eyes which made his heart stutter was the worst; Stiles should be the one on guard, the one who always on watch and not letting any temptation distracting him. and still, looking at Derek- he forgot any anger he felt toward him, and was only consumed by the deep pain of betrayal.

“I think that’s what Aphrodite tried to do,” Derek made a deduction which he seemed to not understand himself until that moment. “Because of the regulation, they couldn’t do it by force, so she caused you to get to the Darach by creating a dispute between us.”

Stiles frowned. “Why? Hera could’ve just turned me mad again, like I was with Isaac.”

“But that didn’t succeed to separate between us, did it? She wanted you to believe that the reason I still counted on you, even after attacking my Beta, was because I was hopeless. And she was right, but the reason she made you think it is isn’t correct.”

While Stiles would have hated it if this was the truth, meaning he had been played by the Deities like _that_ \-- because Aphrodite had kept talking about it all just in theory, so she had technically never lied -- he was not sure anymore how enjoyable it really would be to show them and get the so-called happy ending they were trying to avoid him from.

Stiles scratched his face, trying to make it seem like he was not doing it just as an excuse to rub over his tired eyes. “So what exactly you want from me? Just to forgive you?”

“First the reason your Father brought me here. Anything else is for you to decide.”

Stiles bit his lip. “You know that I’m different now, right? My divinity was taken, meaning that your _Alcaeüs_ , the Demigod, has died in that fire. Now I’m even more just Stiles than the day you told me I don’t just impress you because of this part of me.”

Derek was quiet, but then: “No. It’s because you didn’t let this part in you to convince you to stay in the Olympus.”

Stiles snorted. “Well, that’s because they’re actual idiots. I mean, if Kate was able to trick the Titan of trickery, then no wonder the Deities were so afraid of us that they broke our families and lives apart. Why _would_ I stay there?”

“But it’s also because of the reason you refused to the bite, right?”

Stiles turned to Derek wide-eyed, surprised he still remembered that.

Or, more correctly, had not known how much that piece of information meant to him; was it because, as someone who saw it as a gift, he found it weird someone would decline the offer of the bite?

Stiles faced away again, and started describing that moment without being able to stop himself.

“When Peter suggested that, and I claimed I didn’t want to become like him, he told me I was lying. I think I was still confused during that time, because I still couldn’t explain to myself that, while it could be nice to get a talent like Scott- I didn’t want to get that from Peter, who was almost like an entirely another type of Werewolf- an abomination.” He felt Derek tensing beside him, but kept going without paying too much attention to it. “It took me some time, but I finally learnt what an abomination really means.”

The memory of that night still reappeared in Stiles’ thoughts every once in a while, even after he had learned what he was, and so the reason behind the lie, the wish for making thing easier for him by a defined identity -- as well as the success it so-called brought with being acknowledged at last -- was supposed to stop disturbing him

But, perhaps- there had always been more than that.

It did not let him rest, and Stiles knew it never would until he admitted out loud what bothered him so much about it.

“The outcome of the bite is not about the way it makes you look or behave under the full moon- but what shape it turns you into, as a result of what you were before. The shift reflects the person you are, and more than I was afraid of having more strength than I had already had- I was afraid of what it was gonna change me into. Now that I’ve seen enough versions of it, I don’t intend to discover what shift I will get. The same is with immortals: I saw different versions of their types of behaviour, and even though it is already in my veins- I don't wish to test it by turning into one myself, as long as I can avoid it.”

When he glanced again at Derek without thinking about it, he was received with a nod.

“So now you can see why I won't go after Gerard,” Derek noted. “It looks like it's the only way in which I'll be able to live again, but pursuing him would delay it even further.  The sorrow will always stay and I’ll never forgive, but with my new pack, there’s no need for a better revenge.”

It was such an amazing development that even someone as vengeful as Stiles stopped feeling bad about Gerard getting away without what he would have liked him to get for everything.

Even his logic side, the one which had not let him reconcile with Derek until that point, was close to being officially prevailed.

“By the way, you have nothing to worry about when it comes to the bite.” Derek hesitated for a moment. “Unless it _was_ the venom, which was so strong that it might have blocked the effect.”

Stiles turned to him sharply, breathless. “What are you talking about?”

Derek sighed. “It’s going to make me look even less convincing, maybe even like a hypocrite, but… I saw was you lying there helplessly, being all green and drained like a dead plant, and I just _knew_ that you wouldn’t survive until we got to Deaton. When we were finally out of the fire, you had no pulse. And I- I tried to resuscitate you, but with all that smoke we’ve both inhaled it wasn’t enough- ”

The door was burst open with no advanced warning, and the Sheriff got in just as heavy-breathing as Stiles.

“You did _what_ to him?!” He demanded.

Derek looked helpless around the room. “It was the only choice, I had to delay the venom from spreading more, but it didn’t turn him -- ”

“ -- Of course it didn’t, that’s why he’s still lying there, but- !” The Sheriff clenched his fist so strongly it shivered. “You’re lucky I know what you look like underneath that jacket.”

Stiles was just about to process all the things his Father had heard, forgetting entirely that he had been standing outside the door that whole time, when it hit him.

Even someone as crazy as Peter would not have risked going into no other than _flames_ to save the target of his master plan, and he would have _for sure_ gone nuts for doing so anyway the moment he got injured beyond healing in a matter of hours.

“You really wanted to save me,” Stiles murmured, hitting the back of his head against the wall.

The other two in the room seemed to quietly exchange a long look for a while before his Father went out again.

When Derek followed Stiles’ stare and found it was directed at his covered upper front, he shook his head and gestured for Stiles to make room for him on the bed, coming to sit next to him while Stiles lowered himself into a lying position, with no need to fight the need to rest anymore.

“It’s nothing,” Derek promised him in a soft voice. “It takes a little longer to heal because it’s a little deep, but as an Alpha I’m healing much quicker than it’s taken to Peter.”

Stiles laughed bitterly. “And after this, you _still_ think I’m a good Anchor for you? It’s one thing if I put you in dangerous situations, but -- ”

“ -- Don’t say this like the feelings only from your side are in fault.” Derek’s eyes roamed over his body, scowling like he was imaging what Stiles had looked like the day he had found him in the fire, before looking back at him. “What you’re experiencing right now is called a _Catharsis_ ; acknowledging the wrong in a deed and purify your soul through it. It’s what Hera wanted you to go through by the end of the Labours, too, but you weren't affected like she has planned, and that’s why she caught you the moment you slipped. But there’s nothing here to fix about your soul; you’re my Anchor for the way it already is. It’s enough as it is to be worthy of anything we’ll make this link to be, because it is good no matter how much it has been used for misery.”

Stiles swallowed. “If you're implying that we should give it a try just to prove the wrong -- ”

“ -- No, of course not. But if you decide to not give something a go, it mustn't be just to go against one’s word. That way, they still impact your life.”

Stiles was really close now to fall asleep, so much that he got teary-eyed by swallowing down a yawn, but he had to say just one more thing.

“I see now why we don’t even have to be destined. I mean, of course you’d need a Yoda-level mentor like me and not… _Peter_ , but I think you kinda became my Anchor too, you know? We’re idiots like that, of course we’re the best for each other.”

It was the same pride that had led him to Hubris, but as long as he did not compare it to anyone else, it had to be safe- and no matter what, Derek _had_ to hear it.

Derek huffed, and Stiles' hand was shaking as he tried to raise it; he was about to give up just when Derek noticed it and complete the move for him by carrying it to his face and attaching it to his cheek. He leaned his head into it even though he was the one to hold the hand, and inhaled deeply.

It may take more moments like this, but Stiles was starting to get closer again to be convicted that it would be a complete lie to say there was nothing at all between them. They were going to try to build this broken thing up, even if it would not be as it was supposed to be.

But it was not like they were going to play according to the rules; they would be a couple, just without behaving like one. There would be no cute name-calling or gentlemanly behaviour, but there just might be something even better and bigger than a lot of those who did have all the couple-y thing going by the book.

“Derek,” he started to murmur when he felt himself starting drifting off into that stupid sleep, but cut himself off before he let that word to be slipped away from his mouth -- the same one Derek’s body language had begged when Stiles had been about to head home that night at the Loft -- because he could not let himself asking it from Derek either. Maybe there was a positive advantage to be in that condition: every little action was so painful and required so much energy Stiles actually had to think before he said something, for a chance.

Derek seemed to get it anyway, and behind eyelids which turned more and more heavy with every passing moment, Stiles could sense him nodding in a promise.

He felt wet softness against his wrist, then a comforting warmth brushing through his hair- and that was where he lost himself again to the unconsciousness.

-

Stiles opened his eyes to two hazel ones staring right at him, their owner sitting in the same position had been when Stiles had drifted to sleep, and seemed surprisingly alert.

Stiles had no idea how much time he had slept, but it had certainly been the longest period he had managed to do so without been woken up by nightmares.

“You didn't really just sit over here the entire time, did you?” Stiles shifted to put his legs on the floor, about to carefully get out of bed as he was still scared he might feel that annoying weakness again- but Derek hurried to help him anyway, let him lean on him in support.

Stiles would have nudged him off, if he did not suddenly realize how much he needed to pee, and had no time for his slow pace.

Derek shrugged under Stiles’ hand which was put over his shoulders. “Been through worse.”

“Yeah, but sitting here on your own for so long?” His bladder begged him to hurry up, but he had to mind his manners. The man had been looking after him for what could just as well have been a whole day, after all.

“Not something I'm not used to.”

Why of course Stiles would ask the wrong thing, because who was he if not the one to blurt out the most stupid things to the wrong people, especially those who did not deserve it.

“Do you want me to bring you something to eat?” Derek did not seem to acknowledge it, or at least pretended really well.

“It’s okay, I can go downstairs, but I need to the toilet first,” he smiled apologetically.

Derek huffed, and slowly led him to the bathroom without asking for directions from him -- not that it should surprise Stiles that much that he had already learned where it was, but the thought of Derek settling down in his house made him feel all warm inside -- and stopped right before the door.

“I can manage from here,” Stiles assured him.

Derek nodded, although he opened the door for Stiles anyway before he moved away from him, doing so very slowly and only when they both stood on the very threshold. “Your Dad’s in a shift, but I'll be downstairs. Call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, sure, um, thanks,” Stiles murmured in return, feeling a little uncomfortable as he followed with his eyes after Derek, who was going down the stairs easily as though this situation was obvious and normal for him.

But maybe it was just Stiles that simply did not keep up, and there was no need to find doing the same thing in Stiles’ own house, as though they had not gotten close enough for that level of intimacy.

If Derek had done so for him- he should make an effort and give it a try himself.

What’s for sure was that Derek would not want someone who wet his pants, so he literally shook himself out of his thoughts and finally closed the door after him.

The rest of the day was spent mostly with just the two of them, since everyone else were back in school, as it was the first day after Christmas -- which meant it was officially one year after everything started, which was completely mind blown as Stiles could not remember so many months of it -- but no one came later in the afternoon anyway, like they knew to just give the two of them the time to understand how the hell to make the thing between them work until Stiles was eighteen.

Which was not so different than the summer, as it turned out, but of course much different than that day a year prior exactly: they bickered, exchanging retorts in a ping-pong manner; while they were cooking together, Stiles was even lightly hit with a ladle every time he attempted to do something that Derek found to be too much for his still healing body- and the jerk even seemed to _enjoy_ it delightfully, as he was doing so while having absolutely _no_ mercy on Stiles, even if the whole point was that he could not  use his strength to reciprocate or not.

It was ridiculous, almost in a hysterical level, to think that Stiles was supposed to be at the peak of his Olympus-entry celebrations with the Nymphs and whatnot; but he knew that nothing could overcome the party he had had -- and hopefully would have many more of, for even more pleasing occasions -- with his loved ones, who were giving him the _right_ course of tough love.

So yes, it may not be his very last chapter with the Deities either way, as once he got out of Beacon Hills he would probably be haunted all over again, but none of these really mattered.

So fuck everything, because he chose to _enjoy_ as many moments as he could with those he cared for -- those he had had all the way from the beginning, and those he had become attached to throughout the way – something which was possible only because of all those constant fights.

Because a life without Derek, even an immortal life, would be empty. Stiles wished to stay on earth, where, thanks to him, he knew even better than ever before he belonged.

-

“Is Heracles really how you wish to be known as from now on, by the way?” Derek asked him suddenly at one point.

Stiles blinked. “Oh, that’s right. I guess I officially go by four different names by now. Wait, is it about this other day? Because that part is no exception of everything else I’ve said without meaning it.”

After making Zeus agreeing to refer to him by the name his Mother had made up, Stiles would not expect to hear anyone who did not respect Hera to refer to him as _Heracles_ , which was a hidden method to forever mock her. Was he not clear enough the day he had lashed out on him, that he had only demanded that because he had been sure Derek had motives to side with the Deities?

“I didn’t mean it as who you are,” Derek explained himself, “but _what_ you want to be presented as. A year ago, I asked you that for the first time because you yourself didn’t know who that part of you was. Now that it’s gone, you don’t have to use the alternative you’ve come up with as a child to run away from what your parents and the Olympus have chosen for you.”

The other one snorted. “You know, maybe Stiles _is_ weird, after all; even though it’ll be weirder to hear you sigh to any other name, even Stilinski. But I guess I understand what you mean: not what I want to be called, but what the title that I first introduce my identity as, when I need to acknowledge my background. Like a superhero’s aliases.”

Derek nodded, an amused smile playing on his lips. “As much as I enjoy you forgetting how to be articulate whenever I mention one of the other names, I think it’s time we’ll finally settle it out, once and for all.”

Stiles rolled his eyes; well _fuck him_ , really, for laughing at his struggle to keep pace with the new names that kept being attached to him, a mess _Derek_ himself had been the one to start.

But he was right- it was time to get everything in order.

Since he was mostly human, even while still carrying a power from a Deity- Alcaeüs was truly gone, especially considering the one who had named him like that in the first place was also the one to currently possess that part of Stiles away from him.

It also meant that his actual name, Mieczysław, was not relevant any longer either. Its may have been about glory as well -- 'fame by sword', something he had barely even practiced with, not to mention to fighting -- but the real reason for choosing it for him was Perseus anyway; even if the Hero was the only one from this side of his bloodline he felt comfortable being related to, it did not feel right for him to be credited with the honour of someone who had worked as hard as him to achieve his individual own.

But even if an occasionally-used nickname from his old past had eventually come to have an importance, than maybe the case was the same with another, one which Stiles had thought of himself, way before he had started forming his personality- one so old he did not even remember himself using it, in fact; Stiles had only heard about it from his Father, during one of the times where he had read his name being mentioned in some file and had had to do a double take, being reminded once again of the horror that was his ID.

And if something like that had rolled out of his tongue on impulse way back _then_ , while already refusing to accept the real pronunciation of his name- then there was no way his core had changed so much that it was less than perfect to show the connection between that young Stiles to the one he was these days.

“Stiles Stilinski, the Mischief.” He nodded to himself in approval, and smiled at Derek with a determined glow in his eyes. “Mischief will be good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/177259610046/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-18)


	19. Chapter 19

“Who the _fuck_ is ' _Hercules_ '?!”

Stiles was aware he was not supposed to burst into Derek's Loft without warning in advance, at least unless it was an actual emergency- but this case _had_ to be an exception; if he tried to deal with his freak-out by himself and leave the drama for a later hour on the day, he would end up bursting out himself.  
  
Derek scowled as he watched him stepping through the lift in the still renovating part of the Loft -- where there had used to be a meaningless hole in the wall until a month prior -- and was partly worried but mostly confused. It was at least an hour before sunrise, but count on Derek to be such a morning person that even his _hair_ was already fixed up.

Stiles sighed. “Here, look,” he said as he sat down in front of the table and took out his laptop, which, following the login screen, was already ready with the tab in question: the discovery that felt like was going to ruin his life _for good_.

Derek took a seat next to him, eyes focused on the screen. “' _Heracles in_ '- wait, that’s not right.”

“I _know_!” Stiles groaned, slapping himself in the forehead. “The fuck’s ' _Hercules_ In Popular Culture' supposed to mean?!’”

Derek’s scowl deepened. “I don’t know what’s that about, but didn’t you say Wikipedia is stupid?”

“It is, but that’s not the point right now!” Stiles gesticulated so erratically that he actually shoved his laptop a little, but this situation seriously droved him beyond the point to think rationally, so Derek made a smart move by lowering the laptop’s screen and carefully bring it to his lap, away from Stiles’ reach. “I _wish_ they were the one to start it, but I stayed up all night to check on all the things they mention here, and they're all true- it’s actually coordinated with the rest of the world! I mean, how can this seriously sound right enough to them to create all those films and TV shows? It’s _clearly_ written like there’s a fucking typo, and it actually is, because guess what? It doesn’t even _mean_ anything in Latin!”

Derek did not say anything but simply looked at Stiles with raised eyebrows, gesturing to him that he was willing to support him and help him find some logic in all of this, if Stiles just stopped throwing the question to the air as though _he_ was the one who was the most clueless about the issue.

While he still felt like there was a lot he wanted to complain about before he would finally gather the proper patience to start explaining everything clearly, Stiles realized that he owed Derek the endeavour to ignore said need after coming out of nowhere and just start pouring all of his anguish. He

Furthermore, since it was most probably one of Derek’s favourite time of the day --  the morning jogging -- Stiles could not just expect the attentive ears he had yearned for to just absorb all of his nonsense in.

He rubbed his face a few time until he relaxed his frustration as much as he could, trying to do his best to put the different details in order.

“At the very first day I fully woke up from the coma, I got a visit from Mnemosyne- the Titaness of memorialization. And before you ask: no, I _didn’t_ commit Hubris again. It doesn’t really matter in this case, because, for good or bad, I’ve made my impact on the Olympus- and by that, according to her, on history itself. I know it’s weird how the _present_ can leave an effect on the _past_ , but if I show you some of this stuff here, I swear you’ll find even worse things to try to wrap your head around -- ”

“ -- Stiles.”

“Yeah, right, Sorry. Anyway, the whole process is taking a while because a lot of stuff needed to be rearranged and changed- from the pop culture aspect, like you can see here, to everyday-used idioms and analogy; but the most mind-blown thing is that both of those references could even change actual _events_ of history, in cases they were enough to inspire people to act in another way than what they had originally acted upon.”

“Stiles,” Derek said again, slower this time, in an attempt to get his attention again and distract him from the gust of information that was going on in his head. “As complicated as it is, I promise I’ll catch up as you tell me everything chronologically, as usual. What were you talking about first when she arrived, and how you got to learn about _Hercu_ \-- ”

“ -- Don’t, please just _don’t_ ,” Stiles cut him off before he had finished uttering the full name. “I can’t believe this day has come, but I prefer you say any of my other names for as long as you want, and not _this_ bullshit.”

Derek put the laptop back on the table and re-straightened the screen to examine the page’s title again. “So that’s a name? Are all those headlines talking about different people who were affected and received that nickname?”

“Not really, they are all inspired by the same- Ugh, okay, if we do it chronologically, then let’s start it another way: remember Gale?”

“The polecat who saved you when you during your birth?”

“Yes, her!” Stiles folded one leg of the sofa so he could better face Derek. “So, I didn’t talk much about it because it wasn’t that important back then, but do you also remember that she mentioned that there’s a mysterious way in which everyone knows my story, even without being there or being told by the Deities themselves? That even though Hera didn’t want anyone to know about things she had tried to do to me, everyone was aware of it anyway?”

“Yes, I think so. So that Titaness is the one to share the story with everyone?” Derek assumed.

“Not exactly. A role, in general, is to be in charge of continuous transmitting of reports of occurrences, with the length and extent of people in knowledge of them depending on how worth she finds those events to be accessible. But when it comes to a divine-related piece of information being given to humans, there always has to be something obscure about it; the story can never be told according to the way it really happened. So, basically, when something is important enough to be told but the god themselves don’t want to admit it, it happens anyway: it first begins in the inner circle of the Olympus, where one day those stories are just _there_ , being spread from one to another without anyone knowing the source to start spreading them; and the main thing is that everyone always hears about it from someone- but no one will ever be the one to _initiate_ the spread of the story, no matter how much you’ll look for them. A ‘chicken or the egg’ kind of thing. And when times comes, it gets down to the people on Earth, too, through myth.”

Stiles gave Derek a few moments to grasp all that information, and Derek was using it just so before looking back at Stiles with the next question he had. “It’s like with Perseus, right? He’s the Polish Great-Grandfather you were called after, even though the legends claim he lived in Ancient Greece.”

“Yes, that’s it. When an event, or a chain of events,  is worthy enough to move to the mortals’ world and being shared among them, Mnemosyne includes that detail in history. The story is adapted to fit the time of the Bronze Age times, like the rest of Greek Mythology's legends. My best guess about it is that, out of nowhere, the findings of epic poetry authors, magically get more pages with new myth- as if everything that became real to us _was_ a myth, after all. And then, throughout the generations, everyone’s life changes according to how the myth impacted on their lives- for some not at all, and for some, it can inspire to make things they wouldn’t have done otherwise. The process takes longer and gets more complicated the more years are accumulated in the already existing history, and more things from the more developed world have to get an alternative. Some of the events get entirely twisted as all, or the myth itself gets a few different versions, to make sure the change of history won’t create any causal loop in time or a paradox. You know, the butterfly effect and all that.”

Derek’s body seemed to tense. “What about us? When are we going to forget things as they were too?”

“We won’t,” Stiles hurried to assure him- although the knowledge of it was not received the same way for himself. “Luckily -- well, at least for one of us, from what it seems -- we’ll still remember, in the price of having to adjust to the new western world as it is now.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed; Stiles was suddenly really impressed how well he was able to stay concentrated in such an early hour. “How can it be?”

Stiles cleared his throat, preparing himself for the complex answer. “Okay, I know it’s less convenient for someone who didn’t watch a lot about time travel and especially not _Doctor Who_ , but try imagining it anyway: so time is a linear progress made composed of causality, right? Once you do something, there’s no turning back. You can’t cancel the mere fact that it was _done_ , or even alter it; and if you _could_ , then it had to affect everyone who exists in the middle of that timeline, because we’re all equally connected to the spacetime, right?”

Derek’s eyes were darting as he was thinking it all, but he nodded in a notion that confirmed he was still following Stiles’ words.

“But then, when someone like Mnemosyne is involved, who has control in the difference that a change in time makes in people’s lives- the effect can skip certain people; so, in a way, during a specific section of our timeline- instead of continuing straight like of any other people on Earth, _our_ line is separated and curved a bit, _just_ enough to not be affected by the new timeline. In other words, while everyone forgets what some points in their lives were before the myth had been expended and by that changed it- _we_ , those who were exposed to the real events, by witnessing or even just hearing about it- will remember it, and have to find out by ourselves what the truth was changed in the eyes of the rest of the world.”

Derek pointed with his chin at the article webpage. “So this was one of her modifications?”

“More like of her daughters, the Muses; who are almost like my Sisters because of their Father, Zeus, by the way. But did that make them go easy with me?” Stiles fell into the sofa, _finally_ being able to act on his dramatic needs, although this time he made sure to keep a distance from both the laptop and Derek. “ _No_ , of course not! So when they made changes to the turn of events themselves, which is necessary to make sure no one would find too many similarities to suspect- they also made sure that I will be known by what the _Roman_ empire called me. And not only they changed my name, but also my character itself, making him into a _cheap_ imitation was presented as a fucking over-muscular brute! If the whole point of changing history is to glorify the gods’ name, with what great of a hero they so-called made- but now it’s not even right, because _mine_ isn’t. Not that I care about them, obviously; they deserve it. I’m just so _dumbfounded_ of their blind by their pride that they didn’t even care that this is the only way in which the course of history can be changed with my story as a part of it.”

Derek tested him for a moment, while also letting Stiles to catch his breath and cool off a bit- not that Stiles was sure he would ever be able to truly dismiss that fact from his mind, not as his short search was enough to prove just how impossible it was to escape from references about that _Hercules_ character.

It was not like they were going to appear anywhere -- the modern area had enough thrills and need for _new_ stimulations for that -- but with the way the Deities had talked about his achievements, and the length of the Wikipedia page which was unlike no other, it was still impossible to not run into it every once and a while and get embitter all over again every time by the reminder of the awful fortunate of being a Demigod.

It was hard to live with the thought that, from now on, he would have to force himself to behave as though there was nothing wrong with the myth, whether he saw costumes in Halloween which were inspired by one of the monsters he had faced, or even by him himself- or hear someone use it as a nickname for _themselves_ , like there was anything great about it and no dark truth at all.

“What made you check it out only now?” Derek finally asked him.

“I thought my meeting with Mnemosyne wasn’t real,” he admitted embarrassingly. “When I was in a coma, I used to have a lot of weird dreams- some of them were based on actual conversations people had around me, and sometimes they were just random. I don’t really know why I let myself believe this was the same case with this, but most of the time I busied myself with thinking of how else Hera can outsmart the protection mark. Then, yesterday, my Dad fell asleep with the TV on and I saw this.”

Stiles rose to a sitting position, opening a new tab, where he entered a new Wikipedia article- this time titled as ‘ _The Olympics Games’_.

It was an event of a grand scale big enough that Stiles would have definitely heard about it if it existed in his era as well -- he vaguely remember hearing about the ancient games in history class -- especially considering that Baseball was still a part of it when he had started being an active fan of said sport. Checking the rating of the broadcasting of the event and the large media cover of it, that was already active that early into the current year it was going to take place at, 2012- it was scary what a simple traditional myth -- which was an actual myth with no basis, unlike the other he had read -- about how ‘Heracles’, along with Zeus, had originally initiated the inspiration for the ancient games, all the way back in Ancient Greek.

He let Derek reading the opening passage for a while, watching his face turning from the confused expression it had worn from most of the time since Stiles had arrived, to shock and amazement- although there was no fear in it, as Stiles found himself expecting for.

“The next one takes place this summer,” Stiles elaborated. “I heard about it in the news- it’s the first time I checked them since coming back, because my Dad was too worried I’d keep seeing clues to something supernatural that’s not really in there. I have a feeling everyone -- as in anyone who attended the party in the woods when I came back from the Olympus -- knew about it for a while and just kept quiet- at least everyone but you.”

“So now we know, and we’ll learn better as well as we can,” Derek reassure him. “I’m sure it’s not the first time for an immortal like Deaton either- he may help us with some tips.”

Stiles snorted bitterly. “Oh, yeah, just like he did with any other situation, right? But I don’t even care about that, because as long as everything is on the internet, we’ll never be really exposed by being unprepared to the fake facts the world know, as long as they are _aware_ they are fake facts. It’s the fact that this… character,” he grimaced, “was made up to be a symbol, and luckily it no one was crazy to take it too far to do something bad with it, you know, like leaders that totally distort the message and brainwash everyone- but it’s still so _stupid_!”

Derek huffed. “I thought you said you don't care.”

“I know, but here, look- it's not that it makes me look stupid, it just doesn't make any _sense_. I read some of the legend itself and I just don’t get how can this be the most popular story of the Greek mythology?! Seriously, just wait until you read the Labour I’ve done for Deaton- it describes that this _Hercules_ guy had to dig a path between two rivers at the two sides of the stable, which isn’t even underground but above it- and that’s how it was cleaned. I mean, yeah, now it’s harder to suspect it happened it was done under a veterinary in a small city in California in the 21st century, but it’s just a total bullcrap! And don’t let me get started on how Lydia is not even a person but a _region_?! And that Gigante we fought was not something Hera ordered to go after me, but something I saved _her_ from -- ”

“ -- But isn't it what you've always dreamt of?” Derek interjected, too amused to Stiles’ likings. “Being the superhero who no one can ever discover his identity, because the most important thing about the secret of his identity is the symbol it is for people- like Batman?”

Ugh, why _of course_ Derek would reach the most sensitive points in him, like his favourite superhero.

But having a false bad image of yourself was far different than being presented as a complete idiot with a muscle for brains, which _he_ should be the one to laugh on others who actually were like that

“I was ready to deal with the lies people would tell about me, but not the hidden truth that covers the symbol for good and hope that should have replaced me.”

“Another symbol to replace?” Derek repeated the words bewildered.

“What was really the last straw for me was that, out of all the other legends that can relate to this one, including some I would have never imagined would make a connection- there has been no change whatsoever when it comes to Lycaon. No matter how much Lycaon's descendants, as they call it, have affected my life and helped me- the epic poets have never even mentioned anything about them. If you don’t get a credit over anything, then there’s no point in trying to get anything good from mine.”

Derek stared at him for a while in silence, until it made Stiles to look back at him and find a small, fond smile -- which is unreadable for him for the moment, as he still was in a mission to create more moments like that for Derek so he could learn to read his smiles -- until the moment was broken when he closed the laptop’s lid and started putting it back in Stiles’ backpack.

“We’ll find a better time to work it all out and gather any essential new general knowledge. For now, it’s time you head back home and straight to your bed.”

Stiles blinked. “Why? Can’t I just stay here?”

Derek stood up, shielding his chest and a serious look on his face. “We promised your Dad something, didn’t we?”

Stiles’ head fell back with a groan. “Oh, come on, let me stay only this time! I’m too tired to drive!”

“That’s why I lock Pop Tarts just for this kind of occasion. I have just enough to keep you awake for as long as you need.”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, thoughts going back and forth between the fact he was saving such a precious treat away from the entire pack, especially for him- and the fact that he had _plans_ for Stiles trying to cheat and get more intimate than he was allowed.

“You’re really no fun, you know?” Stiles finally complained, although he was already shouldering his bag on one side. “Where’s the Derek who would literally run away from the police, who would not mind taking the risk of being arrested again for things you found worthy enough? I told you what the fates said,” he started to give an impression of a character from a cheesy romantic film, “this should be our ultimate relationship, now where is- ”

Then Derek palmed Stiles’ free arm, and although he was not forcing Stiles to stay in his place- it somehow was enough to make it impossible to escape Derek’s stare right into his eyes. Stiles could do nothing but gaping back, incoherently trying to murmur questioning words out.

Derek’s face was blank, but his beaming eyes were almost _smiling_ at Stiles, as though it was not enough how much their crazily beautiful shades mocked him for being so marvelled whenever he looked at them closely enough to try to count all of them.

Then the eyelids lowered closed, and Derek lowered his head to slowly nuzzle his temples, all the way down to the end of his neck: it started with only the tip of the nose dragging along the shaken-by-shallow-breaths skin, but then the rest of the bridge joined to, so Derek’s face was eventually buried against Stiles. The touch was light and soft, but the act was so _intimate_ that it such an intense sensation deep in Stiles’ belly that would have probably made him lose his balance if Derek had not brought his other hand to hold Stiles’ other arm tightly.

After a few moments, Derek raised his head again, only now to rub his nose again across Stiles’ neck and then sniff at what was probably their united scent. Once he was done with that, he looked at Stiles again with a predatory gaze, like it was a real wolf that Stiles was looking at- and it might have frightened Stiles, if he had not noticed the frowning eyebrows, which created a very much human restarting frustration.

Stiles immediately felt bad every time he dared to think Derek was not eagerly waiting for the moment they were both legal as much as himself.

“That- That was good,” Stiles murmured breathlessly as Derek let go of his arms, though he did not step entirely out of his space. “I absolutely underestimated your out-of-the-box thinking ability. But I guess things like that are the reason we’re rock.”

Derek huffed and headed to the kitchen -- which was already under work of renovations as well, to better fit it to the space potential that the huge Loft offered --  leaving Stiles with perhaps a different kind of carving which Pop Tarts would not be able to satisfy, but at least it was a kind of affliction that he knew would be more rewarding than any throne in the Olympus ever could.

-

It was the only time Stiles would visit the Loft in the first few months, as he was busy ever since he had nursed himself back to health.

His first and biggest priority was to find a job.

Breaking into his Father’s bank account page showed that they were not in an optimal financially, most probably mainly due to hospital expenses- which meant he had to pay for himself from his own money in any aspect that he could afford until they would stabilize again, and perhaps even after. Even if the Sheriff would never accept his money for every dollar that was spent for his Labours, whether for medical purposes or gas for his Jeep- he decided that by relying on himself for as much as he could, those months of using at least as possible from his Father’s money would repay for that.

His Father had not liked the idea the first time it was presented to him, but he eventually gave up when Stiles told him it would also help him calm some of his anxiety down, getting the feeling that he was truly back to as much of a normal life as was possible for him to have while things were much different than before, and the supernatural would remain a fixed part of his life- even if now he was actually the human he had thought himself to be back then. By admitting that, Stiles was aware the passionate necessity might develop into a serious order- but he could only feel like paying back his debts he would be able to clear his mind better.

After all, there was also what he owed to Derek for the payment over Coach’s training (minus one month, for the damage Peter and Erica had done to the Jeep the previous winter, plus everything that the mechanic lied to about needing to be fixed). He had not been easy to convince as well, as money turned out to be the best way Derek had felt like he could support Stiles wherever he could not physically be involved; it did not come as a surprise for Stiles, as he had argued with Derek quite a few times about the way he would offer to spend money on Stiles without thinking over it for a second- which was proved as a quite amusing providing instinct with the reaction Stiles had gotten the moment he suggested to pay for the Pack’s takeouts instead of paying directly to Derek. Eventually, the reached an agreement where Stiles would buy as many silly, unnecessarily decorations as he pleased, as an aid in filling the empty spaces of the Loft and turning it into a normal flat as last.

Since he was not allowed to work in any fast-food restaurant -- it was only expected that the first moment Stiles would be required to put more attention into a healthier diet, the Sheriff would go for sweet revenge -- as well as the library or a gaming shop, where he would have been too much exposed to the changes in the entertainment industry -- the only left fitting option for him to apply at was the local cinema.

His story was well known among the entire county, so it was no big of a surprise when shifts included a lot of annoying pitying looks -- and even some suggestions for starting a fund for him -- but considering he worked at a retail job with an as impatient clientele as was the American people, as well as the number of tipping he got out if it- it was a much preferable situation.

For his managers as well, as the rumour of him working there did quite good for business, so it seemed.

While working in a cinema and getting free tickets did help him believe a little more in the possibility that even heroes with the most tragic fate can get a relaxing ending in the end- Stiles knew it was only realistic to always stay prepared anyway, and so, with his first paycheck- he already bought a pull-up bar, and even started doing jogs in the woods again -- in the parts of it which had not burnt, of course -- a place where he could use as the gym he had no point to go to, with much heavier fallen trees and boulders to use.

As he had about ten kilos to regain, after going underweight in the last five months, as most of the time he had either been under an influence or in coma- he wanted to take the chance to do so through building actual muscle mass, and adding more to what he had started to get the previous summer.

His immense strength may have enabled him to carry things with a weight that no other creature would endure and break things that would be too durable for anyone else- but he had to increase his stamina and grow his muscles in order to do either of those things for long, just like any other human who did not train and was limited with how long they could deal with heavy weights which fitted their size.

Although the decision derived from anxiety, after a while, actually turned the exercises into somewhat therapeutic ones, and while not being able to check or test the length of time he could use his strength at for obvious reasons, but he could feel this change in his body as he was getting more and more into a better shape, alongside with not losing his normal human level of gentleness like he had been worried about for the long years he had avoided workouts at all costs.

It did not mean he changed his opinion about Lacrosse, though; even if this was not another part of the getting-back-to-Human-Stiles plan, there was always a danger of his inhuman strength somehow be discovered, no matter how much in control he thought himself to be; if Hera’s endowment of strength had remained with him, then so could her madness.

Speaking of Lacrosse- Coach Finstock seemed to have other thoughts when Stiles finally came back for the team by the end of the year, as he wanted to reward Stiles for getting his wish of having his student’s image being shaped in the Stars one day; finally Stiles was able to not mind that too much, as at least someone who he cared about ended purely satisfied from this whole mess. But as much as the Coach wanted to continue to glorify his name, Stiles was able to persuade him to simply get back to training him for the remaining year of high school.

Only Finstock lost all of his excitement about the idea the moment he discovered that not only Stiles’ training was not exclusive to him, but that he became enough experienced to sometimes question the Coach about his own teaching methods- especially when it came to archery.

Because, as funny as it was- the boy who ran with the wolves was trained by none other than a family of Hunters; even if the Daughter was just going through an opposite process.

It all had started with the shared Stilinski-Argent dinners, which were as awkward as Stiles had expected. Ironically, though, it was not because the actual subjects that were supposed to make it as such: Chris dismissed the elephant in the room quite early into the first gathering, explaining that he had had an emergency escape plan, but that there was nothing to worry about since the funds of his own bank account would probably run out as fast as his incurable condition was deteriorating, as the black goo had started to give him breathing problems. They had not mentioned anything about it ever since, and Stiles kept his secret hope for himself- that of one day Allison would go after their great-great Grandfather, Perseus, and put an end to her own, unfortunately still alive Grandfather for good, in the most ridiculous way, as he deserved.

While they both genuinely wanted to get closer to Allison’s family-by-blood -- so much that Chris excused himself from the other two at some point in order to Stiles aside and make one-on-one talk, and seemed scaringly serious when he suggested going to a Mets game together one day -- it was clear that she was going to make her place in her biological family as an Argent: beside obvious decisions, as keeping her surname, for good and bad- she would still keep celebrating her Birthday in the date she was used to, and fulfill her destiny as a great leader as an Argent Hunter rather than a Human with the blood of an Olympian god in her, with Stiles was deeply, sincerely supportive of.

Once they had declared on getting back from retirement, this time with a new code -- _we protect those who cannot protect themselves_ \-- Stiles knew right away that he wanted to be part of this not only because he needed a specialist to tutor him, but also to be able to connect between the two families while making a step from his side; strengthening the united family relationship and building it on the basis of that exact code.

Everyone appreciated the idea, but Stiles was glad the most for Chris reacting that way, especially because winning points from her Father meant getting more from her as well, which was the most important thing for Stiles. Even though there was nothing geeky about her hobbies and mentality, their click was just so natural, that Stiles found himself so proud of being her Brother especially because it worked so brilliantly while they were so different from each other. It amazed, him, truthfully, as he had made so many efforts to make sure other people he cared about would develop the same kind of attitude as him, especially with Heather- but Allison proved him there was no need in common quirks at all, and even training as a Hunter of the supernatural could make a bond as strong as the spiritual experience of watching together and awesome comics film for the first time.

Nonetheless, of course, that kind of bonding time was something that could only be appreciated in retrospective; especially as she was way ahead than him when it came to Hunters’ abilities, and most of the time he had to be left on his own for hours on end while struggling to get out of whatever he was bound to, while for her it only took minutes, or even less. He could always use his immense strength, of course- but Chris insisted it was necessarily for developing a creativity and way of thinking of a real Hunter, as well as for the chance he would get in a situation where his power would become ineffective somehow- whether by a neutralizing effect they could possibly still not being aware of, or by being taken by the Deities just like his divinity had had.

All in all, this was the exact thing that was bringing them closer the most: it was a hard blow, both for the ego and his anxiety, when he experienced time and time again what it was like to live without the divine instincts of a warrior, where out of nowhere he just knew to master any kind of a weapon and mortal art. It was like a whole new experience to not have his divine talent to count on and being able to tap to, especially after getting used to not needing anything more than an adrenaline rush to let his body take charge where he had no idea what to do and how.

But while expecting the inevitable situation of having to actually polish skills, the effect of the confiscation of the Ichor -- the blood of the Deities -- was bigger than he had imagined: while not feeling weird or any different than before, with the had to find the hard way that he had lost the advantage of his body possessing better endurance in general and a relatively faster healing process than humans; it had caused him throughout the years to never learning to be as careful with injuries as he should be, and letting himself becoming as clumsy and graceless as he was.

This level of vulnerability which he had not prepared himself for caused quite the panic attacks, but Allison, as the truly great leader that she was -- inherently, he would argue to his last breath, and not because of some celestial boost -- always found the words to bring him back. He hoped that this at least was part about the forced, unavoidable designation that she liked.

All in all, Stiles preferred it that way, even if it meant he had a lot of work to do, and a hard one at that; because, after experiencing the Olympians in their natural environment, witnessing exactly what they truly were- he could have never trusted himself anymore if he had to count on instincts that had been still the same as theirs. Even if it meant he would have no spark for an advanced control of mountain ash anymore, it would have undoubtedly been a risk worth taking.

But Allison had never let him think about that too much anyway, as she would mostly meet with him for a much calmer reason: catching up on school. It was a good distraction, and it had triggered his ADHD enough to do a lot of workouts between studying and practising.

It was mainly Lydia’s department, but the two friends had shared the role of Stiles’ lecturer, so neither of them would get behind herself. By the end of the spring break, he was already attending school again.

As irritating as it was to not get any merciful attitude from either Mr. Harris or Ms. Morrell -- with neither showing any problem to treat him just as before, unlike how it was for Stiles -- he was glad that his own group of friends was able to not be too much of a mother hen, at least not in front of him; and even when it was impossible for Scott to keep his puppy eyes to himself -- which was understandable for Stiles, after years of knowing him --  the girls was always there to keep him on leash.

He really owned both of them a lot, even aside the actual debt he had to Lydia, which at times had made him question himself about cleaning away any guilt feeling she had had about sending him to Eichen House with the knowledge about his romantic love for Derek being the real reason for the fire; remembering how nervous she had been the moment Derek had shown himself to him at the party, Stiles of course had to- but it did not mean he was completely cool with the statement she had made the moment she had been reassured, about the upcoming summer is one where he would spend most of the time with new Labours in the shape of needlework.

Nevertheless, he remembered well the Sheriff’s story about how she had screamed at him in the middle of the department, and knew she was going through tough time herself; moreover, since her powers had been awakened by Peter- there was a good chance that she was related to Werewolves in the Deities’ eyes enough so the protection mark did not apply to her. It made him feel bad that he had failed her too, in a way, although he kept those thoughts to himself.

Then he heard that she had started taking Krav Maga courses, after turning down the offer from Allison to join them in training as well, and only practised with her from time to time, preferring to stay away from Hunters’ methods, which their intention was offensively rather than defensively. While, of course, it meant that she would be able to take care of herself better, Stiles was just as glad that she was strong enough to be able to stay away from anything that was uncomfortable to her.

Fortunately, Lydia did not feel that way about any form of the Hunters’ practice, and was slowly advancing in the translation of the whole nine-hundred pages of the Bestiary, which one day may be their main measure for defence anyway.

Overall, she had not had much time left to maintain a relationship, and so Jackson and she were not getting back together for the foreseeable future- although they stayed as close as before, if not closer. Stiles, though, could not help but keep an eye on the two every time he saw them together, just to make sure that the Jackson who had come back from London, and Stiles had had yet know, was indeed good for her, in whatever kind of relationship it was; especially as it was getting her into the other pack as well, and Stiles wanted to make sure he would not make her judge them according to a wrong conception.

Because, while there were great changes in their group, as, in addition to the mentioned above, Allison and Scott not having any comeback at all- it seemed that in the last recent months, the reunion of their original group from last year which Stiles had only witnessed its very beginning- it was hard to tell to what size exactly it grew to, as there was the other faction which was a part of it as well and yet not really at the same time.

He was told that the trio of Betas and them had started sitting together for a period of time, both at class and during lunch- starting when the Darach had made her comeback. Of course, it had not gone without conflicts, especially from Allison and Erica’s side.

Then Derek had come back, and Jackson had been offered again to join his pack, with the honourable spot as his first ever Beta always open.

Surprisingly, it had been Lydia’s drive to speak with them more -- due to her concern about Stiles, as suggested by her explanations, although she would never agree to admit that -- that had been the decisive factor about this, wishing to learn more about Stiles’ emotional status during the summer. That had resolved in Erica and her coming closer -- buddying up over a similar sense of humour, along with shared interest in body care and cosmetic -- which drove Jackson to consider giving Derek and his pack a second chance.

It had been a gradual process, where Jackson had only joined them during training sessions- but every time had slowly encouraged him more to trust their stability and unity, although in his case it had been through a terrifying bond he had found with Isaac, of all people.

Huh, talking about two people coming together to fulfil their true potential -- even if this case it was bad; very, _very_ bad -- when their first instinct toward each other was supposed to keep them apart.

When Stiles came back, the truce became balance enough by all parties, out of mutual respect to their support with him. The tension was still there, and so Stiles himself decided to take an advantage of the main complexes and to befriend someone unlikely himself: Boyd.

The other boy was not very impressed with any of Stiles’ attempts at friendly courtship, as someone who had been proven to not even let the thrill of being on a roll in Mario Kart wins to distract him from his apathy toward Stiles, refusing to let Stiles high-five him even for that.

Stiles had figuratively made a career of waiting for someone else to change their mind about him, but for this one, there was something else that was rubbing on his patience, even while knowing that it would be wrong to do that without the right degree of closeness.

About a month or so before he had returned to school, Stiles had found out about the Sheriff a bit absurd decision to spend the calm times that was finally back to Beacon Hills in a new obsession with reassessing old, unsolved files that may have a connection to the supernatural.

Inspired by the Darach, along with the story about the story of the abduction of princess Europa by Zeus, and the research after her being led by her to-be-king Brother, Cadmus -- he had not had time to do as much research as Stiles had done on Greek so-called mythology, but he had made sure to at least read everything that was about Zeus -- he was struggling to make sense about the mysterious case by going in another direction that had never been taken about a particular file: what if Boyd’s Sister, Alicia, had been kidnapped by innocent-looking women instead of men?

While also having annoying aspects to this change of perspective, as finding out that Alicia is a Greek name (“Dad, no. Just... _no_.” “I just thought it was an interesting finding, is all. It means ‘honesty’, by the way, so I didn't think about doing something with it.”), it had a good point nonetheless, returning the hope to Stiles that maybe those stories could help to guide to a better conclusion than preaching to respect the Deities better.

Moreover, getting into the national police database, and looking at the documents of two women who had been between the witnesses in the ice rink that day who had been questioned- the Sheriff had been able to find a note of suspicion about the two of them from another testimony, which probably had been left forgotten. Further investigation revealed that case to another weird incident of death of kids.

Returning back to school and meeting Boyd everyday while not knowing how to ask Bod if he wanted to help with that, using his Werewolf senses, was devastatingly hard; but in the end, Stiles’ nerves were too much for even Boyd to ignore at some point, and he cornered Stiles to confront him about it.

With an encouragement from Erica -- they both well-established in their relationship; perhaps they had already been back at the party of his return, but Stiles had been too distracted to notice -- he eventually agreed.

While the two women were eventually proven as a disturbing, sickening due who were behind many shaking affairs- they could not find an unequivocal proof to include Alicia’s case in their trial; but after justice had been done, even if not specifically for his own family, for Boyd it still felt like this was enough.

It made Stiles glad, even more so when Boyd agreed to let him accompany him to Alicia's grave, and it turned out that hers and that of Claudia were placed quite near each other.

Ultimately, the more everyone had entwined into each other’s lives-, the two different groups finally meshed into one pack; it was far from whole, in no way perfect nor ever would be- but Stiles could have never wished for anything better. With all the different dynamics he had with the different members of it, there was always a reason to be exuberant about- with only glorified the own little Olympus of his even more.

-

Then, there was Derek.

Or, more correctly, there was nothing much for Stiles regarding him -- beside that one desperate time, he had not visited the Loft, and had only sent him cool gadgets, bedding items and random knick-knacks he had found online through other pack members -- but surprisingly, not because he was trying to avoid him so he would not agonize with how much the last thing he wanted to do was just that.

But through a very tight schedule almost every day, consisting of work, training and school- time had moved fast enough for Stiles to find himself in summer vacation again.

Before he knew it, he was in the best shape he could have ever hoped to achieve, finished his junior year with great grades considering he had not been there through most of the school year, was loved by his friends and had even fulfilled his commitment to his Father regarding camping trips, but something was _missing_.

Even if that something was, as Stiles liked to call it: a ‘non-relationship’ relationship.

Due to whatever promise he had made to the Sheriff, they did not spend time alone together, and saw each other only when everyone hung out in the Loft together between their own kinds of training- and even whenever Stiles somehow fell asleep in the Loft after a film, he mysteriously woke up the next morning in his bed, clothes still on but his Jeep's key on a place on the table he would never put it himself.

They had to pretend that the night they had shared together was nothing more than a bitter-sweet dream, yet their behaviour around each other and they way they talked about the other suggested otherwise: they still argued as usual, but there were more soft looks and their brief, unintentional touch, like when their shoulders bumped when they stood next to each other, was more related to unconscious influences than it was accidentally. And that was another thing Stiles had to get used to- Derek being constantly close to him, always drifting to find his place beside Stiles, and it felt too natural and right to think on how new it actually was.

The only reason that it was not too passive for Stiles to consider it as nothing at all -- besides everyone keeping rolling their eyes at the obvious special intimacy between them -- was when the pack attention was elsewhere, especially when the food delivery arrived and everyone’s focus was away- and Derek took the chance to discreetly nuzzle him. Stiles’ breath was taken every time, and he was not able to do anything more than murmuring some dog jokes about it before walking away from there all blushed- but he got his revenge at other moments.

Whenever the whole pack was sitting in the living room together, playing video games or anything else random someone had brought: they always shared the same area on the sofa, and though they did not cuddle, Stiles' legs were found on Derek's lap more frequently than not. Stiles made a habit of holding Derek's hand and playing with his fingers too, in an excuse that he needed something to mess around with because of his ADHD, then sneakily bringing them to his lips whenever he thought the others were too distracted to notice.

Even if both of those habits made the two of them a bit frustrated, those were the only way for them to act on their emotions until the time for actual dating arrived.

In any case, Stiles was willing to accept any kind of affection that Derek was comfortable with, so long they could share their true selves behind that forced play of obliviousness, just once in a while, so the wait won’t feel useless- and even if by due time he would still not want anything more than that.

Because even if all that would be changed would be being able to steal some of Derek’s large shirts to his house or just flop down on him for a nap- the only thing that would matter is Stiles and Derek finally getting their true _freedom_.

-

Then the day finally arrived, with the remaining months of the summer leading to Stiles’ more-awaited-than-ever birthday.

The pack celebrated with him during school time, but everyone knew it was the evening where the real celebration would take place, with the ultimate present.

Stiles had been asked by Lydia -- well, threatened, but no one needed to know about it -- to wear a new button-down shirt that did not look so bad on him, if he could be honest with himself; even his Father complimented him, which furtherly showcased Lydia’s undisputed domination when it came to fashion sense and hands, as even the way she arranged his hair made a huge change.

Contrarily, Stiles had zero expectations for Derek to wear anything out of the ordinary as well, but when he opened the door at exactly seven p.m.- he was so completely confused, that he would forever have to swear his mouth reached the ground while describing that moment.

The usual stiff work jacket was replaced by a lighter, much more casual one in dusty-black with large buttons, combined with a loose, surprisingly open v-neck, and even more surprisingly white-coloured shirt, which emphasized his tanned skin and gave a tease to his chest hair.

Yep, it was foolish of Stiles to forget that it was Erica who had made her Alpha to let her be in charge of his attire; because of that he had not prepared himself at all, and the next moments went way too long as Stiles’ eyes refused to have enough of drinking in Derek’s look.

But who could blame him when the biggest shock was that all that effort had been organized just for him; Derek’s natural beauty was given the little touches it needed to ascend it to a much higher level beyond what Stiles could have never thought possible to an already unbelievable attractiveness, _just for his sake_.

This was _absolutely_ worth the waiting.

As Stiles was once-overing his _freaking date_ \-- seriously, how was that real?! -- for who knows what time, he suddenly heard someone clearing their throat behind them, and Stiles turned around to find the Sheriff eyeing them with a glint of amusement in his eyes, like he was holding back a laughter for their sake.

Now it was Derek’s turn to clear his throat. “Good evening, sir -- ”

“ -- The authority over Stiles may not be in my hands starting from today, but please allow me to at least suggest for you to save that staredown for when you’ll be waiting for your orders at the restaurant.”

They both stared back at him in embarrassment, but eventually, it was Derek who did not waste more time before getting a hold on Stiles’ hand and pulling him outside, guiding him to the Camaro that was parked just next to Stiles’ Jeep.

“You never use the Camaro anymore,” Stiles was finally able to point out when Derek let go of him next to the door to the passenger seat.

Derek shrugged, and rounded the car to get to the driver seat. “I wouldn’t let the rest have the one which is a better fit for two, now would I?”

Stiles was left breathless again once hearing Derek talking about it so casually.

They were doing that; they were actually _going out_. And if it would turn out to be successful, he would be able to call Derek his fucking _boyfriend_ by the end of the evening.

At least that was how Stiles hoped it worked.

“Stiles?” Derek glanced at him through the window he had lowered, already seated.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” Stiles l opened the door to get inside as well, but did not find it in himself to close it.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked in confusion.

“H-How- I mean, uh,” Stiles stuttered, “I just don’t feel like my outfit matches to yours, you know? It doesn’t look like we’re going to the same place at all. Or at least not with each other. I mean, Lydia spent a lot of time on this and all, but if you think I could do better in anything else...”

Derek sighed.

“I’m serious, Derek. If you -- ”

“ -- I don't care as long as you still look like Stiles, the one I've waited too many months to share this moment with to care about his suit.”

Derek was looking at him with raised eyebrows, but his eyes were entirely honest; Stiles stared at him for a long moment, heart hammering in his chest with the thought that not only he got to finally have Derek all for himself for the night, but that he got him to be _waiting_ for that from his side as well.

A smile was finally formed on his face. “So does it mean you don't want me to wear anything at all?”

Derek rolled his eyes ahead to the front window, starting the car. “You have one second to close the door before I’m pulling away and you’ll have this look ruined anyway.”

Stiles snorted, but counted two seconds just for good measure before closing it.

Once they got closer to the exit from Beacon Hills, Stiles noticed that Derek was starting to slow down.

“Are you still sure you’re ready to leave the borders of the protection mark?” Derek suddenly asked him. “You also didn’t bring any of your weapons.”

Truly, Stiles had not left the territory of the town in almost a year, and not just for a lack of time.

But he knew staying inside there forever was not an option- he would not allow himself to be controlled by fear, both for his own behalf and for everyone he had fought for so there would be no limitations in their life when it came by the Olympian world.

“I’ve postponed this moment so I could find a great reason to try it for during my first time, so even if it ends in disaster, at least I know it was worth the try than the life I can’t really have while being stuck to rotten inside one tiny town.” He gave Derek a cheeky smile. “Besides, everything’s for the boo, am I right?”

Derek hummed. “So you’re not nervous.”

“Nope.”

Derek stopped in front of the last traffic light before they would officially be out of Beacon Hills’ zone, taking advantage of the lack of vehicles behind them to switch to park and finally turned to look at him. “ _Are_ you?”

Stiles swallowed. “Well, I guess that means there _was_ a flutter in my heart after all, great.” He rubbed his face. “So, would it be weird if I said that somewhere I’m a bit worried because of you? I know it’s stupid, but you once said that you found it too untypical of you to be natural when you’ve opened up for me, so…”

It was one of Stiles’ secret fears about this day: getting this far just to realize Aphrodite had her hand in the depth of Derek’s feelings after all, so he had been after his influence after all when he had started to be less careful with how much he let Stiles see the vulnerable side of him. Stiles could have not discussed or checked about it beforehand, which had resulted in Stiles being so anxious to the point where he found himself deliberating at times whether he should risk getting hurt by the Deities again.

Derek's eyes widened, but then he hurried to shake his head dismissively. “If it wasn’t real, then I would’ve been motivated to ask you to take me with you to the Olympus. But that wasn’t the way either of us wanted to resolve the problem with- I knew it then just as clearly as I know now.”

Stiles swallowed again, but nodded, and it was enough for Derek to start driving with the next green light.

“You know, when Aphrodite tried to convince me joining them,” Stiles said, “she claimed she could arrange me as many lovers as I'd wish for, for the rest of my eternity there- or at least until I truly became one of them and committed something unforgivable, that is. Anyway, I wonder what would have happened if I wished for you.”

“I would let her take me, even if you threw me away after a day,” Derek responded almost right away, with no hesitation.

It was a strong statement, yet it frustrated Stiles at the same time. He was not pleased with the fact that the angry side of him took control eventually, but he could not help it.

“You can't just keep saying those things, Derek. If I were such a douche to accept the offer, you wouldn't want me. If I have any reason to be worthy to you, then staying here is it.”

The fact that the same went the other way went without saying; if Derek was someone like that, then he would have not been worth the risk of Stiles getting out of Beacon Hills the first time.

The street lights that illuminated Derek’s face on and off exposed the shadow of a smile on his face. “It’s really been too long since I could play on your tendency to take things seriously.”

Stiles groaned, hiding just how much he was glad that Derek was not like that after all- although the asshole could have probably sensed it anyway.

Once the hour-long drive was over and they parked next to what was told to be the best Italian restaurant in the county, Derek hurried so much to get out of the car that it startled Stiles enough to linger in his seat a few more moments, enough for Derek to open the door for him.

Stiles rolled his eyes, not caring if the blush in his face as the damn Werewolf was able to hear the accompanied fast heartbeats that caused it in the first place. “I asked to go out with Derek. You know, indifferent, asshole, amused-at-others’-struggle Derek. Not his freaking sappy clon.”

Derek huffed, pulling Stiles’ hand forward so hard that Stiles almost met the floor face-first; was he _trying_ to get Stiles killed by the end of the night?

He glared at Derek even harder, which made the bastard to just burst out in a laugh.

The laugh was free, impossible to be angry at even if it was not Stiles’ biggest weakness anyway.

Stiles could only hope it would be the first moment of many more, if not that night than at the upcoming ones.

He narrowed his eyes challengingly. “You know it’s me who’s supposed to be the one between us to play the gentleman role, by the way. You’re older, but I’m the _strongest_.”

“Which makes it much easier for me to do the _gentle_ part.” Derek pushed Stiles’ door close, locked the car and intertwined their fingers as he led them to the restaurant.

The rest of the night went with the same light, playful energy, at least at most part; Stiles occasionally made a self-check to make sure he was completely calm with no chances to randomly burst out, as well as innocently checking the windows- yet ultimately kept being distracted by Derek bringing him back to the topic of their conversation.

That was until Stiles accidentally shook the table a bit by trying in vain saving his fork from falling to the floor, and Derek’s eyes panically snapped to his mobile’s screen, even turning off the screen to make sure it was not the device which was vibrating.

Stiles studied him with confusion, when all at once he realized that leaving the town was not a testing try only for him, because chances were that this was the first time Derek had been this far away from his Betas ever since he had felt forced to run away all the way to Peru. What’s more, even that was due to dangerous circumstances that had left him no choice, while this time, as Stiles had come to know him- he must have been eating him by guilt over being an Alpha who dared to do something for his personal pleasure.

Oh, that guy was absolutely _ridiculous_ ; but there was no way Stiles was going to let their first official date be ruined by Derek having the worst night of his life.

He declined the offer to order dessert, to Derek’s shock- and did not let him know the reason until they were already in the Camaro, on their way back.

“Stiles, you can’t be serious,” Derek sighed.

“ _You_ can’t be serious! You should’ve- ” Stiles rubbed his face. “No, forget it. We’re not gonna fight. But try to remember that we’re over keeping concerns like that from each other, okay? I don’t want that just as badly as you.”

Derek stayed quiet, and Stiles had done his best to not blurt out accidentally something that would ruin the evening like had just almost done. He should have known that.

“Looks like we both still have issues to work on,” Derek finally noted after a long silence.

“And the worst part is that we were supposed to not have them by now, because, while waiting for this moment for so long, without being let to discuss any of that again- we’ve never had time to completely solve those unfinished issues.” Stiles breathed a wry laugh. “I’m sorry, I should have said from the beginning that there was something else troubling me instead of complaining about my look. But I still stand behind my decision to calm your inner mother goose, nothing matter to me more now.”

Derek took a hand off the wheel to squeeze Stiles’ thigh, which meant a lot with how strict he had become about safe driving, especially in order to give a personal example for Erica, and for that was his own way to silently apologize for his own pretence.

At long last, they came to a stop in front of Jackson’s house. They both went out of the car to stand together on the road, and although Stiles himself could not hear anything- he knew from Derek’s expression that everything was as fine as it had been when they had left.

“So, what’s your senses’ conclusion, big guy?” Stiles smirked at him. “Are all of them still here, where you left them? All four of them?”

Derek sighed. “Yes.”

“And they’re all alive and in a non-life-threatening state?”

“Yes.”

“Are all of them calm and content, apart from maybe a little irritated by each other?”

Derek huffed. “ _Yes_ , Stiles. They’re all good.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Stiles breathed before he pulled at Derek’s collar, dragging his head forward into a much-anticipated kiss.

It was more thoroughly than their real first one- it felt like they were reaching much deeper. Maybe it was also because of the period of a year that had passed, but the surely much slower pace of it indeed helped it. Their lips were warmed by each others’ breaths, and the taste of the kiss was sweetened further by the fulfilment of their longing.

Every once in a while there was a sharp sensation on his hips or something needling his face. It did not bother Stiles that much - little would, after all the time he had been waiting for this moment - but it did surprise him just how much Derek was ready to hold himself back as well, just for the chance to have their relationship going without any obstacles they could avoid. The lack in self-control seemed to make Derek keep some careful distance from Stiles, so the latter made sure to lick around his lover’s fangs, and rubbed his thumb on the claws in the hand he was holding- showing that he did not mind any of that.

They only stopped when they heard an uproar from one of the windows above them.

Erica cheered while Allison chuckled, either because of them or because of the scene aside them of Jackson, who seemed to find it hard to swallow down a gag, and was scolded by Lydia because of it; Boyd was not there, unsurprisingly uninterested in the event, and while Isaac was- it was less to see and more about _being_ seeing pinching the bridge of his nose.

Looking back at Derek, Stiles expected his eyes to be glowing red at his Betas- but all he found was an irritated scowl, and perhaps even a glimpse of _judging_ towards his pack for their disgust; basically, it was just like the face Stiles had worn a moment ago, which was the thing that truly was making that entire moment the greatest ever.

On their ride back to Stiles’ home, Stiles would nervously hold some of Derek’s fingers- still too unsure to hold Derek’s hand properly while they were still testing the new thing they were starting.

Derek lightly put his hand on Stiles’ lower back as they walked together to the entrance door, where Derek manoeuvred Stiles to face him so he could start mouthing his temple and around his ear as in a goodnight kiss, sniffing him in.

“Is that what the moon is really made of: wolf-shaped balls of cheese like you?” Stiles snorted under the tickly sensation of Derek’s lips on his sideburns. “You’ve wanted that so badly, huh?”

“Being into obnoxious, spazzy, the worst humour guy I’ve ever met? No, not really,” Derek joked in a too low tone by Stiles’ reckoning, considering the shiver that went through him from hearing it so close, but perhaps this exact reaction was the jerk’s intention.

“Will it be okay if next time we’ll end it in your place? I guess my Dad will make less fuzz about it, but personally, I feel more concerned about his discomfort than Isaac’s.”

Derek pulled away enough to meet his eyes. “Maybe it's about time you talk with Isaac so nothing will be that awkward for any of you two.”

Stiles swallowed. He had felt for a while that there were a few unclosed issues between the two of them, even after what Cora had told him about pack members being able to move on pretty quickly. There was nothing too big about the tension between the two of them, but it was still there.

“Just now he seemed to not take it that badly, at least not _seriously_ , and with no celebration in my honour while there’s a Darach still out on a loose this year, he was fine earlier today at school, too- but did you two talked about it, or he seemed to you uncomfortable when it was mentioned?”

Derek shook his head. “It’s me being his Alpha that creates the relation between you too, but he knows just as well as you that the bad blood is not necessarily based about the pack. NO point in bringing up his protectiveness- you’re not new to us.”

Stiles nodded, and expected Derek to get back to what he had been doing when he got closer to his ear again- only this time it was to whisper something else.

“It’s time for me to go. We made your Father wait long enough.” Derek gestured in the direction of the living room inside.

The heat on Stiles’ face deepened, and for that probably the blush on his face too, and he instinctively made a step backwards even though he did not know if the Sheriff was even looking at them. Derek laughed at that, before shoving him lightly in the direction of the door, while he himself turned to his car.

Stiles blinked at the door a few times, slowly comprehending that the night had passed smoothly, with nothing suspicious happening the entire time they have been away.

He had become relatively less paranoid in the last couple of months, but this knowledge felt like he was cracked enough to truly let the relief wash over him properly.

He only became aware of the goofy smile he was wearing the moment he got inside, where the Sheriff was waiting for him with a smile of his own that could make one suspect that he would have let Derek date him even before the birthday.

“I sent Lydia a message, just so you know,” he told Stiles. “She asked to be informed the moment you’re back home, so you won’t get to go to sleep before you tell her how it went.”

Luck was right with him that day; that opportunity was the best lifesaver he had been given out of an unwanted situation in a while.

“And that’s exactly what I’m going to do now, right this instant. In my _room_. And then going right to bed, because there’s school tomorrow and I shouldn’t miss sleep time over anything else than a friend that need reassurance, right?”

He carefully backtracked to the stairs, but was too slow as he only made it up a few steps before his Father spoke again,

“Looks like he has proven himself today as a man to his word. As much as I believe in the law, you gotta admit it was more a test to check how good he is for _you_ rather than good according to the state’s principal.”

Stiles threw his head back. “So you had to get as far as making him wait close to a year to take me out on a date?”

“Well, I did let you hang out with him at his place, didn’t I? Anything else that you need to be alone in order to do together he could have found someone else to do it with, if he was that impatient.”

“ _Dad_!” Stiles turned to him sharply, face grimacing with disgust.

Ugh, what luck had he been talking about just a moment ago?

He shrugged. “You know you wouldn’t want a partner like that either.”

Stiles did not bother to try to counter that, because as much as he had known Derek was that kind of a partner from the beginning- the Sheriff had not, and he deserved the contentment of being demonstrated someone’s loyalty toward his son.

“Did you have fun?” His Father asked then, surprising him with the question- but when Stiles looked at him, he could tell the seriousness on his face.

Stiles licked his lips sheepishly, slowly nodding with a small smile.

There had been too many parts consisting of problematic issues to distract him from thoroughly enjoying it as much as he would have wanted, but it was indeed the best it could have been at any other aspect- almost perfect just like that.

“So, Derek looked really nice tonight, huh?”

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” Stiles groaned under his Father’s laugh as he rushed the rest of the way to his room, slamming his door behind him.

-

At the months prior to the date, slowly but surely, the two packs had formed into one.

It had a Hale as the Alpha, consisting of both Werewolf Betas and Humans who were equal to each other, and her fundamental principle was watching over Beacon Hills- but it was not a new Hale pack in any way.

Instead of having blood relation, a lot of actual blood had been had been lost and wasted while forming and reforming the ethics which would bring everyone together through too many fights; there was no Emissary, and two members were supposed to be natural enemies by their actual relation to the Olympians Deities- but Stiles knew it was going to flourish and become as legendary as the old one to possess the same role as that of the family which the spirit of her well-respected and never-forgotten impact on the town would forever remain the biggest influence to its decisions, even if now it would be known as _Beacon Hills’ pack_.

And the moment Derek had finished his last touches on the renovation of the Loft -- he even went as far as fixing the building’s main Lift, even though no planned visitor of the Loft would probably use it -- it became truly official, as, besides being much more decorated- there were actual _rooms_ for everyone’s free use built with soundproof walls, and was overall full of little details to make it the best den for Werewolves as possible. It eventually became the regular place to meet at weekends and at days before tests, and was especially great for Erica, as it helped her getting away at times from the bitterness that her own house gave her.

While they had spent a significant amount of time outside, sometimes to play chicken fights in the lake or eating outside, for a change- but most of their unifying activities were actually through watching old Italian ‘Hercules’ films together and making references to them.

Not that it went as great as it sounds: For the first few times, his name became a shared joke by Isaac and Jackson- they used the mention of it alone as a worth mocking, as if there was no need any more to think too much when it came to making fun of Stiles, who only narrowed his eyes at their childishness.

But when they finally got an actual reaction from him, where Isaac surprised him with a prank involving a plastic Hercules beetle -- what a waste of poor Dinosaurs' decomposed bodies -- it was Derek who put an end for it at last, as after a very physical training session, where the whole pack had winded up  suspiciously more wracked out than usual- his name was never mentioned ever again by any of them.

The training was a focal point in the pack’s consolidation as well, because learning to fight together and strategize the pack’s tactics and combining everyone’s skills- it meant that Allison and her Father had to be taken into an account as well.

There was more for the Werewolves to learn from them, on most part, but as Allison aspired to get ready to clash with ruthless Hunter families one day that would come after them, and dedicating herself to educate the future generation better about Werewolves and forming your morals about the supernatural in general- both Argents knew well that they would need the whole pack at their side, and so they formed a new way of training so Humans would be included, too.

That meant Stiles could join in as well, of course- but while it was great to see the Betas working through the past misunderstanding and building a group play, it was insane to see Chris and Derek discussing before and after each combined session, as true allies- sometimes with Allison herself, as well.

It was only a formal talk at this point -- during casual pack nights, Allison still mostly kept a respected distance from Derek -- but considering there was enough trust for the two Argents to share the Bestiary files with Derek, as they were being translated- Stiles knew it was going the right way. Even Derek himself had made Stiles pleasantly surprised when he had made no argument against Chris’ suggestion to develop a collection new set of clubs, which some would be made from a rowan tree -- mountain ash wood -- wrapped in barbed wire mixed with wolf’s bane and hidden spikes which can inject mistletoe.

Well, maybe it helped that he could have sense Stiles’ honesty when he had stated that Derek’s bat would always be his favourite, and the only competition it had was when Melissa gave him a metal one for his birthday.

Danny came occasionally as well, even though _The Jungle_ had become his main go-to as the Drag Queens supported him a lot during his recovery from the literal hell he had been through; at big events Pholly and Heather would pay a visit as well- while Stiles also started to visit the latter again with his Father. There was nothing awkward between the two of them despise a certain thing that almost happened on the night of her birthday, and Stiles was glad for that- although he still was still disturbed by the idea that he could have ended learning about the form of the Cygnus constellation by moles on her back in a completely another way.

As for the relationship he _had_ formed, though- none of the pack members acted differently, surprisingly, though at one occasion, when Derek had his back to both of them- Erica smoothly walked past Stiles, brushing her fingers on his shoulders and gave him a smile to assure he would cancel any planning he could not possibly have of breaking her Alpha's heart.

But what made Stiles happy the most was Derek's reaction to the new pack being established; he caught his soft looks every time he was about to leave the room for whatever reason and took that chance to watch everyone from the side, witnessing what a great group he took a part in bringing together; Stiles would then throw him a comment, saying whatever it was just to shake Derek out of his thoughts, and reminding him he may wish to appreciate what the pack had become from an outsider point of view- but he should still remember he was a solid part of it.

But Stiles knew it could never really feel complete without settle things with Isaac, so no link would be left neglected.

-

“So, what can I do to the hero who has braved a monster once using a fake snow machine?” Isaac folded his arms amusingly as they went out into the Loft’s rooftop.

Stiles sighed, closing the door behind him to assure their privacy. “You'll never let me forget of this one, won't you?”

“Do you really expect me to?”

“Well- no, not really.”

Isaac took a seat on the stone edging, and when Stiles got a déjà vu feeling- he suddenly realized that the scenery of the town melding into the forest reminded him of the day he had made the revealing talk with Derek- completing with the sunset, even the time of the day of the same; it made him wonder if the same level of seriousness in the topic of the conversation they were going to make was what made him suggest to Isaac to go there.

As Isaac sent him a questioning look, he eventually decided to sit aside the heightened borderline instead of on it, so he would not have to face the view and get too distracted. If Isaac noticed this, then he did not say anything.

Stiles lost himself for a bit in the turning of the roof turbine before he blinked himself back to reality.

“So, I bet you’re glad you can actually wear scarves again without everyone staring, huh?”

Isaac eyed him for a moment. “Something happened to your memory on your way here? We’ve never been close enough so we can sit together just the two of us to talk about meaningless things like the weather. I’d love to help you get back to your senses, if you want, but otherwise, I’m -- ”

“ -- Fine, Isaac, okay, got it. But it’s because of this unstable thing we have going on that I don’t know how to get to the point- I hope that at least you get it yourself already.”

Isaac snickered. “Well, Derek made the walls sound-proofed, but I guess now I need to prepare for them not being _smell-_ proofed. I know I can’t expect you to only hang out at your place.”

Stiles blinked. “Woha, that’s almost kind, coming from you. But I didn’t bring you here to talk about what this, well, _dating_ situation means to you alone; it’s about what it means to you and me. And yes, I know I should’ve made that talk before that, but I wanted to let enough time to pass before trying to start fresh again, so that timing happened to work the best.”

“What for? So you could check yes on me too? You may have been able to somehow win over Boyd with your failed attempt to give him answers about his Sister, but you’ll have to bribe me with something better than that if you want to add me as your friend too.”

Stiles breathed deeply, pouting firmly until he was sure nothing wrong would come out of his mouth. “Look, I know you don't like me, and I don't like you or want to be forced to like you just because of others. But it makes Derek miserable, and I know it's something that affects you just as much, as his Beta. And yes, we _will_ work better together if we get along.”

“I _do_ get along with you- we’ll work together just fine during battles. _You_ are the one to choose to be ignited by my words and say shit back at me on any other occasion.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “How does being the one to throw igniting words to begin with count as willing to ‘ _get along’_?”

“Biting each other all the time is what a pack do, didn’t Cora make it clear enough for you already?” Isaac stood up, suddenly feeling like he had too much of the view himself as he walked to the other side of the rooftop, near the door leading to it.

Stiles swallowed. “You know I can’t get blind by rage anymore like that, right? Not as long as we’re here.”

“But you’ve already proved that you can say prideful things that are enough to cancel it, right?”

“A mistake I’ve lost half of me for, literally. While getting Isaac'd myself, when you think about it- I mean, what’s with the whole getting sacrificed to a god out of his own request, by someone who wanted to prove their loyalty…” Stiles shook his head. “Okay, so I’m doing _awful_ at demonstrating how well I’ve learned to control my mouth since then. But I won’t say anything that I really must never say. Well, at least when it comes to that.”

“You said,” Isaac turned his head aside, although still without looking at him directly, “you got Isaac’d _yourself_. Who else were you thinking about?”

The other’s low, hoarse tone did not sound like one which was about to break, yet it did not seem suspicious at all.

Stiles could not believe he had fucked up _that_ early on.

“Yep, should definitely learn more about thinking before talking.” He got up as well on shaky legs from getting all the blood running out of his face at once. “I guess there’s still more time to wait so I won’t waste yours like that.”

Stiles wiped his pants awkwardly and was about to get back inside when Isaac turned around, standing right before the door and stopping Stiles at his tracks.

“Ever wondered why Cora wasn't rescued by Cerberus from the Alpha pack, as she had been from the fire?”

Stiles actually had, but it had always felt to him like it would have been tactless to bring it up, be it with the others or Cora herself during the weekly Skype calls with her.  With all the negotiations she was going through to make sure that the main in charge of the Eleusinian mysteries that they wanted her to become would not limit her freedom of movement, he could not make her more tensed than she already was; unlike Peter, that was, who had already attempted to get all the way to her and try to convince her to let him in as well, just so he could get to another source of power to attempt to steal.

Overall, Stiles knew it was best to keep it for a much later phase in her life; one where she would be at ease enough to visit again in Beacon Hills and finally get to meet Lydia, as, in a mind-blowing twist of events, the two texted each other regularly- to the point where Stiles started to speculate that the motives for it might be more than finding out more about her Banshee kind through Cora’s connection to death.

In any case, Stiles had no idea why would Isaac bring it up anyway- but then the one in question started answering both the wonders to occupy Stiles’ mind.

“Because _she_ didn't want him too.” Isaac folded his arms again, although this time seemingly for another reason than the beginning. “Usually she would scold him _after_ he protected her, but that time she just did not let him get her out no matter what. She wanted to stay not because she didn’t want that kind of treatment- she was desperate for it that entire time, frankly, but insisted to only get it from someone else.”

Stiles did not even fully frown in confusion when the easy realisation landed on him so hard that it snapped his eyes open.

“She preferred to stay there so she could _test Derek_?!” Stiles hollered, shaken.

“Yes, and I didn't understand why at first- at least until the next time I took a look at myself in the mirror.”

Stiles became quite overwhelmed by the continuous jumping between surprise and shock to utter confusion, but was still trying to hold himself still

“I don’t get it: from what you said earlier, Cora wasn’t completely right when she tried to explain your point of view about me, but now you’re sure she wasn’t incredibly stupid when she challenged Derek in the risk of her life because of some _other_ Werewolf bullshit?”

Isaac simply raised an eyebrow. “Is admiring the man who continuously locked you in a locker considered as a ‘Werewolf bullshit’?”

Oh; Of course.

No wonder Derek had been able to convince him to be bitten, as his only option to get control and escape the dominance of Mr. Lahey- the best way against _that_ syndrome.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth while trying to hold back any excuse he had for that. “Okay, to my defence, I did _not_ see it coming. But wait, Cora was pretty suspicious of me for a while about what I was doing behind your backs, she didn’t seem -- ”

“ -- It’s not the exact same case like mine, but she agreed with what they were trying to do with Derek, at some way. Well, until they took Erica and Boyd too. And then you saw just how much she liked the way he was running the pack as the new Alpha.”

Stiles closed his eyes, putting his hands on his head. “That’s insane.”

Isaac shrugged one shoulder. “All more of a reason for me to see a therapist twice a week.”

Truth to be told, Stiles envied him _like hell_ for being able to go see an actual therapist, even more than he was glad for him. It was selfish, self-centred and down-right ugly thing to think, but as he was not going to find any therapist who was aware of the supernatural without getting outside the area which kept him safe from developing further metal problems- the dark side of his mind was driving him more and more bitter, even if only to himself.

Ugh, when would those ironies in his life just _stop_?

Well, not that it looked to him like he deserved the rest of it if he kept exposing more of his true mean nature, which he could not put the blame on the Deities for anymore.

Stiles rubbed his face; he should just shut all those thoughts up altogether and focus on fixing this, just like he had insisted on that talk to begin with.

“Is that why it was easier for you to get closer to Jackson?” Stiles asked him. “Because he knew all along and is related to it in some way?”

Isaac seemed hesitated for the first time since they started talking, and for a moment Stiles was afraid he screwed up big time again- but he seemed to dismiss it eventually. “I don’t want to include him in that, because he’s not… not like my Father was. In spite of the way my Father treated me, I could see it came from a place of care. After he lost both my Mum and my Brother, it turned into a twisted version of love, and he didn't experience it as I did with him. He always was afraid that I’ll disappoint him just like they did when they died. But, nonetheless, he became my Anchor.”

Stiles’ breath came out almost as a laugh, but he just could not help it; Isaac’s words were just too ridiculous to him.

“Anchor? _Him_?! But aren’t Anchors supposed to be something that makes you feel safe and hold you down- I mean, anything else that can do that without forcing you to- ”

Just as the sun disappeared completely behind him, it dawned on him: the moment Isaac had started to trust Stiles -- at the confrontation at the veterinary's parking lots, of all places -- was where Stiles hit him for the first and only time, as even during training sessions they avoided each other.

It had been that moment where he had been literally brutally honest, but Isaac had not been trying to stay away because he was afraid of _physical_ abuse by his hands.

“You’re afraid to start to see me the same way you saw him,” Stiles said in a voice even weaker than a  whisper.

How could have he thought so _simply_ of Isaac all that time, like he was nothing more than a bully who refused to acknowledge his problems, and not someone who tried to push Stiles away to not risk in developing another link that could be used through abusing methods?

And now no other than Stiles himself was getting Derek to himself- the one who had rescued Isaac out of the hands of his past abuser.

He thought back at the time following the assault, where Isaac had agreed to compete against him in whatever game they had played like nothing, within just a couple of weeks following the incident; It sickened Stiles to understand suddenly that he had made Isaac pretending for the pack’s sake, scared of the possibility of being put in the position of the one who went against his pack because something as ‘pathetic’ as traumas.

And that without what Isaac already had to experience by everyone probably keeping to talk about Stiles even more than usual every time he had finally been away, just to come back in the end anyway, never truly give him a break.

“You’re seriously going to beat yourself up over this?” He heard Isaac snorting. “As if I’ll let someone like you to control my life.”

“You _know_ you won’t?” Stiles slowly raised his eyes to see a lack of confidence in Isaac’s.

No wonder; he probably had no always question any positive thoughts he had about Stiles, in case they came from the same place that was still defending Mr. Lahey.

Everything was so fucked up, and in any solution that came to Stiles’ mind he could find a possible threat, which was the worst thing to do to someone whose judgement had been distorted to think everything was his fault, especially when he was punished for his so-called mistakes by his so-called weaknesses: if Stiles found a way to give up on his strength altogether, it would put Isaac in the position of the one to take from the pack a advantage they had, all because he could not man up; and as much as Stiles wanted to ask him to just punch him in the face until he felt better,  it was dumb to think that would help him forget on the danger that was hidden within Stiles’ hands, which Stiles himself could not hide just how there was something small in him that was scared he could go out of control again even without Hera’s influence.

And if he himself was not confident in his self-control, then how could Isaac?

He was walking back and forth, stopping to glance at Isaac every time he came up with something, only to realize immediately it was not helpful- and started to walk again to stimulate the wheels in his brain, never letting himself maintaining eye contact for long to not developing false hope for Isaac.

Was that it? Was he really at a dead end he would never be able to break through?

He finally came to stop from his nervous walk in front of Isaac, biting his lips.

“Should I just forever take a step back from you?” He finally suggested.

Isaac shook his head. “Won’t change anything.”

Stiles sighed. “So what -- ”

“ -- Nothing.” Isaac shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about it besides me talking it out or something with this therapist until I can ignore that way of thinking. It won’t help whether you try pushing himself more into my space or purposely avoid me all the time.”

“So, basically, time heals everything?” Stiles let a little hope shine in him.

“ _Basically_ , this talk is pointless,” Isaac concluded with an exhausted tone, and turned around to

Stiles knew it meant he was confirming his theory in his own way, but even if that could barely be considered as some kind of a solution- Stiles could not let it end in that note

“But inside all the illogic in your head, you’re starting to understand somewhere that I do care, right?” He stopped Isaac just as he was about to disappear into the hallway.

“That’s why it’s harder,” Isaac murmured, quietly enough so anyone downstairs would have a hard time catching that- but just enough for Stiles to hear, before continuing to the spiral stairs.

It looked like they both would not be able to enhance their relationship any time soon, almost like the bad blood had to stay in order to the situation to not get worse; Stiles, naturally, had a hard time to believe this was the best way to deal with it, but without starting some kind of therapy himself -- as much as training had helped him slowly get the hang of his aggressiveness and channel it into a controlled force -- it was probably still too soon to do anything about it, as Isaac had just clarified to him.

Nevertheless, most of all, he was glad for the chance to be informed enough so he could see things from a better perspective, so he would be able to act better around him- so, all in all, while it had not gone as well as he had hoped it would have, at least it was not due to the scenario he had been worried about, where Isaac would have just looked down at his attempt no matter what.

Only Isaac was not the only one Stiles had a closure to have with, which meant there was still aggravation for him to come.

-

The thing was, Stiles had not really wanted to go through this, and would actually have been just fine to carry on with his life without talking to him ever again- but once Thanksgiving was coming up, his Father had left him no chance.

Huh, as though it really was a bigger debt to pay than the money he had owed to others, as the Sheriff had claimed to him, considering what the money he had been given from that very person had made him go through in the additional Labour he had received for it; but his Father kept pushing, and eventually Stiles had to give in, as he had sworn to himself to never disappoint him in any situation that was not within an emergency.

Stiles had put it off until the very eve of the holiday itself, though, so he would have a necessity to get it over with quickly.

And he had a good reason for it, since, just as he had thought- going to the animal clinic again after so long was as distressing as he had imagined it would be. Already being given the creeps just by being in the parking lot, and he knew that he would not feel any better getting into the place itself.

The sign on the door was still turned on its ‘ _OPEN’_ side against the door, but Stiles knew to expect no client inside when getting in unless there was an urgent case. Perhaps it was better if he found out an animal was in a middle of a treatment, though, so Stiles could make the process even shorter- but as luck had it, he was right about his guess just when he did not want to.

It was convenient, though, that this time Stiles found the vet standing right behind the counter, as he was doing paperwork. The amazement in his eyes when he raised his head to see Stiles was one of the moments with the most emotion he had ever seen him, but Stiles knew there was no reason to jump into conclusions about a possible change he had gone through during the year which had passed since their last meeting.

“Stiles.” Deaton let his mouth curl into a small smile. “What a pleasant surprise. It’s so great to see you got back in shape.”

The happiness seemed genuine, but again, it was as expected for someone who had gotten the terrible honour of seeing him while he had been poisoned with the Hydra’s venom.

“All thanks to the one and only,” Stiles noted. “Speaking of thanks -- and of the bad shape you helped me to get through, too, actually -- I brought you something.”

He pointedly raised the small package he was carrying, and brought it to Deaton.

Deaton remained expressive when he studied Stiles with suspicious yet amused eyes, and carefully started to rip it off- just enough until he was able to take out the first object inside.

It was a thin, simple box, and Deaton opened it to find an even more plain-looking ballpoint pen inside.

“Just thought you might need a new pen to carry in your coat pocket.” Stiles looked at the hang white gown in the corner, which its pocket was completely empty. “But I guess I’ve never noticed you don’t ever have any on you, to begin with. Well, all the more for a start of a new habit. Also, you may find it useful to triple click it.”

Deaton raised his eyebrows at him, but tried just as he had been implied; the moment he had pressed the final for the third time, the other end of the implement was changed from a ballpoint tip into a shaft of the needle.

“So you could write _and_ inject, be it a medicine or something to use for your own protection,” Stiles pointed in an easygoing tone, though kept it not too cheerful. “Just thought it would be symbolic, since you gave me the antidote which saved me and all.”

“Thank you, Stiles.” Deaton smiled at him again in appreciation, although he turned perplexed once he unwarped the other item.

“Oh, that’s just a puppy-shaped memo pad that I thought will go nicely with the pen, you know, you being a vet and all. It’s always good to have one of those in case something important comes to mind and we can’t afford to forget it, right? Like when running out of milk, or when there are new bills to pay, or, I don’t know- we forget to mention some important key facts like refusing to help with Erica and Boyd _because_ you know exactly who Deucalion is and what he knows about me, or the fact that you’re not really a Druid, but a forefather of some of them, as a _Titan_.”

At last, the smile was wiped off of Deaton’s face, and he returned into his usual blank expression.

Stiles finally let himself turn colder. “Yeah, I even know why you hate to be reminded of that- as the titan of the afterthought and excuses; all the more reason for memo notes. Well, unless you _really_ forget important information until the very moment it’s too late. It’s the first time the internet is actually correct when it determines a character as an idiot.”

No muscle moved in Deaton’s face, yet his eyes were full of bitterness. “It’s an old nature of mine, ever since I know myself: I assume everyone is aware as the same thing I am, even when it is not obvious, or thinking something without noticing that I missed pointing it out loud. “

Stiles scoffed. “I’m aware; first you forgot to mention to your Brother that you’re limited with the gifts Zeus gave you to hand out to the living things until he let you waste everything, then forgot to tell Pandora to be careful with the box, and you just keep at it even these days when an Alpha toys with your beloved employee who’s desperate for someone to tell him what are Werewolves and who the hell is this Derek guy. Just how you got Talia Hale to want you as her Emissary is the biggest fucking mystery in the universe.”

“And I live with those regrets through every waking moment of my life,” the Titan declared, and wrinkles of sorrow darkened his gaze. “All I can do is protect the animals to the best of my abilities, and keep fighting against the instinctive reactions and habits which keep me falling reaching others as I should.”

Stiles sighed tiredly. “Well, at least you care, I guess I can say that much about you. Unlike your SIster, for instance. Why didn't she do anything even though she knew the Darach will hurt so many people? There’s no way she just got lazy and used everyone being after her as an excuse.”

“She doesn’t have to do anything as long as humans see her acts as insanity rather than a proof of the supernatural. Unless she decided to perform her power out in the open, or in front of a human that wasn’t planned to be sacrificed- she didn’t have to go against one of her offsprings.”

Stiles snapped his eyes at Deaton.

Shit, how could _he_ had been such an idiot himself for never thinking of her obvious relation to one of the three Titans?! No wonder Morrell had not let him ask about her.

Not that knowing that earlier would have changed anything, really- but being aware of divine beings’ motives and way of thinking could always help while dealing with similar situations in the future.

“Her ways were always questionable, even to me,” Deaton mentioned. “Believe me, I was furious already when animals started sacrificing themselves for the Darach; all of my patients that were kept in my clinic killed themselves that day. But she didn’t budge, neither then nor when humans were used. But, as you remember, she had even given a free hand to Peter once, just because the only one to become aware to the supernatural by the person he has bitten was a Demigod.”

No; not _again_.

It had been so long- there was _no way_ there were more aspects for him to discover of how much in fault he was in all the lives that had been screwed around him.

He thought he had already reconciled himself enough to be able to not mind things that were out of his control, but it still kept bugging him no matter what.

Of course, the frustration could always be less about that and more about how much loss he felt by being surrounded by so many who knew almost everything, yet did not let him fully know everything for any reason possible.

“That’s why it was easier for me to let you believe I’m a Druid, without never admitting it,” Deaton explained sadly. “It’s nicer to pretend I'm closer to that than a divine being nowadays.”

“Well, the Darach has proved it isn’t necessarily that much better, hasn’t she?”

Stiles turned away for a moment, stepping a bit away as though to take a breather- before he had turned around to Deaton, his face firm as steal while his eyes just as shiny with tears.

“If there's anything, _anything_ you haven't told me until now, then now's the time. Otherwise, I'll kick you out of the town I've sheltered from basically anything that isn't a Werewolf, no matter how much Scott will whine to me about it afterwards.”

Deaton stared at him for a while, quietly, and Stiles did not expect him to say anything, to the point he was about to head out- when the other suddenly started speaking.

“Your Mother was truly special. When you parents first came here with you, I’ve made the biggest mistake I ever could: I told them they could visit me whenever they needed help. It’s the one thing I’ve always avoided to say- encouraging someone to come seek me never ends well. I was surprised by myself, but I realized soon it was because of your Mother, and her natural charmed which could impress both Deities and Titans.”

Stiles’ lips already started to tremble, knowing what blow was about to come.

“But it started a rollercoaster: after that case, I finally agreed for Talia Hale’s request to be her Emissary, after asking me repeatedly; and a year after, Claudia herself returned here in tears, begging me to find a way to connect with Zeus so he would heal her dementia.”

Stiles wiped his tears on his sleeve, but they only kept coming.

His Mother had suffered so much injustice; everyone had.

That was so, _so_ unfair.

Deaton suddenly showed up right in front of him, after rounding the counter- offered him a box of a tissue paper.

Stiles did not accept that, though, as that gesture suddenly made him recall something.

“When I came here to ask for your help with Erica and Boyd, you said you’ll help with any question I’d have.”

Deaton made no response to that; most probably did not have to, at least not something that Stiles would have tolerated.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Epimetheus,” Stiles murmured just before getting out, not wasting another moment by looking back as he was being able to picture on his own just how hard Deaton was grimacing by that.

-

Stiles had become better, as the days had come and gone, but getting away from the end of one drama was leading to the possible start of a new one.

How could Stiles just leave things behind when he needed to remain prepared? How could he fix anything in his life that he was capable to, when he could not promise Isaac that he would never fuck up again by what he could not, which only grew the chances for him to lose it by making his general anxiety worse? How could Stiles trust his experience and knowledge, when the most relevant information would never be given to him in time?

Whoever had made up the term ‘ _Herculean_ ’ had had no idea what he was talking about, because there was no way Stiles could have been defined as such a part of regarding his physical strength, which was starting to lose its meaning in Stiles’ eyes as well, the more he failed to get over the fear of his hands as the ultimate weapon.

He thought it would do him good to let himself break down more, like he had not let himself do during that fateful summer- but the following year had brought only disappointment on him, as neither the panic attacks by seeing dogs and being reminded of what he had done to a much bigger hound, or the many night _mares_ he had by that short, yet far from forgettable Labour with the man-eating mares had made him get any closer to be eased in mind.

All in all, being aware that all time that he could go through all of that once again just a few months once he was done with this final school year, which its end was getting nearer and nearer- he kept coming unsuccessful with recharging his persistence to bear anything and keep going; even if being able to survive with what he had had through all those Labours was _herculean_ , he still had to sacrifice this ability in its entirety to get to where he was, without knowing he would get any further.

Stiles still went to school, then to work or to any of the kinds of training he took part of- but it was only possible when he pretended that this routine was his life now, and would continue to be until _he_ decided to quit it. If it really was that way, maybe he would have actually healed- but too much of his time had been taken because of those very things, and now he was running out of time before he had to get out of Beacon Hills to pursue the academic phase of his life, which he could not disappoint his Father or his friends with delaying it, and especially not with giving up on it altogether.

He had already gotten out of Beacon Hills once, where he had been proven Hera was not hasty about getting in the way of a hero of his scale as soon as possible, or she would have surely intervened in something as meaningful and huge for him as a date with Derek- but the possibility was still there, as long as she kept seeing him as a personified reminder of Zeus infidelity, and the trauma from all that attitude had cost him with was still active in him to never let him escape that knowledge.

As it came to his relationship with Derek, of course, he could have never had it any other way- but it was long as long as all the sweet moments while awake were distracting him from the bitter behind the scenes of it.

Because, while they say you should sacrifice as much as you can afford for love, if not everything- they both had both literally _burnt_ for this, including, and especially, in fact- Derek’s family.

Stiles could more or less push those thoughts away during the day, making the remaining boy of that family as happy as he could make him- but then everything would come to his during his dreams.

When sleeping alone, he would mostly dream of that familiar feeling of his heart pounding the very same way it had had with every new beast he had faced, but it was in the times he would sleep at the Loft, of all days- where he would mostly dream about burning in the woods with them and wake up in Derek's arms and start crying, because what they had between the two of them was so perfect, but no perfection is good enough to deserve people's death. That fact alone would never leave him.

But that not to say that the revenge was not sweet, with the way Derek's eyes shined, _beamed_ at Stiles every time he would stay the rest of the night anyway, and keep coming after that; it was not Derek _himself_ who stimulated the nightmares, that Stiles knew for sure, but the memory of almost leaving Derek’s home for good because of death by a fire rather than a personal decision. If anything, without Derek in his life it would have been far worse.

Then, one day, Derek declared he was planning to rebuild his old Hale house again, while leaving the Loft for the pack’s general use- and especially for Isaac, of course, until he was able to afford a frat of his own. Stiles felt the most emotional he had been in more than a year by the thought of Derek preparing for the next generation of his new family _already_ , as well as being able to enjoy days with nothing but his own company as well.

That, or everyone had _seriously_ gotten on his nerves.

But, ironically, what encouraged Stiles the most was actually when Derek’s fingers started trace the claw scars on Stiles’ back, because, while it being a physical remain- that was actually the only thing Stiles was proud of; it may have resulted from one of the most painful moments in his life, but that actually symbolized that he could survive the worst, so long he could survive the demons in his heads; and like he had gained those scars by protecting his loved ones, he should brave his inner conflicts to enjoy the happy moments in his life with them at his side, like that one where Derek made a progress of his own.

Nonetheless, he would make sure to tell Derek that the one of his bite would always be his favourite.

-

Stiles was sitting on the kitchen’s counter for a while, begging for the attention which Derek was frustratingly refusing giving him, until he finally finished cooking and, looking heavenwards, the shithead -- or should it be said _Olympus-wards_? Whatever -- he turned to Stiles at very last.

Derek took his time to do nothing but massaging his legs for almost a minute, driving Stiles crazy even further before finally leaning in enough to let Stiles catch his lips before he would get away again.

As the kiss got deeper, Derek took it as a sign to slide his palms to under Stiles' thighs- but Stiles stopped him before he got to get a proper hold of him, recalling a thought he had for a couple of days now.

“You know, I thought about it, and since I'm strong and all, isn’t it time for me to try it too?”

Derek was still close to him, but not too much so Stiles could still see the confusion on his face. “What?”

Stiles nervously tapped his fingers on Derek’s nape, as he was still keeping him in his space. “You know, pick you up.”

He defiantly managed to lift Derek’s brows up, as he did not seem to expect that turn of events the sightless. “You want to pick me up?”

“Yeah! I mean, it only makes sense if I’m strong, right? You being older and larger shouldn’t make it non-versatile.”

Derek searched between his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “I thought you liked being carried.”

“I do, but I want you to to be able to enjoy it too.”

Derek stared at him with surprise, and Stiles’ face heated with embarrassment at once.

“Um, not that I think you’re that fragile, or need, uh, to be _manhandled_ , you know? Just that, it’s good to let go for once, and let someone else, uh- I want I want to say is that you deserve- _that_ , you know? It had to be long since you’ve last let yourself experience the fun of someone else, well, not _in charge_ , but -- ”

Derek smiled -- a rare fondly, amused, truly _happy_ smile -- and took his hands back from Stiles' thighs. “Fine.”

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“Fine, go ahead.” He let go of Stiles and picked himself to space next to Stiles on the counter.

Stiles stared at him for a few beats, unsure- then jumped to the floor and stood in front of him.

Derek raised his eyebrows in encouragement as Stiles put his hands hesitantly on Derek's thighs, but suddenly he found himself frozen.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles hurried to answer, “just, uh, appreciating the view?”

Derek huffed, held both of Stiles' wrists and lead them to the bottom of his thighs.

“You put your hands right here,” Derek started with a teasing, sarcastically patient tone, “and then -- ”

Stiles groaned. “I _know_ how to do it, asshole. Just give me a minute.”

Shoving his palms under Derek’s legs, Stiles felt the insecurity creeping on him more and more; although the weight would obviously be no problem to handle, the size difference still made it impossible for Stiles to try to imagine the scene from an outsider’s point of view, as well as the clear dominance inherited in Derek as an Alpha- while he was too socially awkward to know how to deal with something like that in an intimate situation still strange to him.

But before Stiles could second-guess it, all of a sudden Derek leaned what might just be his entire weight on him- forcing Stiles to step back for balance, and lifting Derek off of the counter while doing so, so Derek would not fall to the floor as well- and then they were kissing again, out of the blue, with just enough intense hunger from Derek’s side that Stiles had to return it back, and before he knew it- he completely forgot his initial doubt and went with it full on, even if it made him testing the Loft’s walls a little too much.

-

Later, they were on Derek's bed, low afternoon light softly warmed the Loft's dark colours with bright orange. Derek's head was on Stiles' chest as they were laying together on the bed, last moments of lazy Sunday passing through as Stiles' hand went up and down Derek's side in a steady pattern.

It was bizarre for Stiles, the way the only overwhelming thing about the situation was the fact they got to that point, like it was _that_ natural for that relationship to advance to this level at one time or the other; it really felt like something was added to the way they were instead of changed- making it romantic between them had not seemed to impact their behaviour or anything else in themselves.

Meanwhile, it was only the world around them which continued to grow, as he found more and more about shrines, gardens, pathways and even more random things which were called after his altered-by-the-damn-ancient-Romans name, which made him identify more and more with _Hercules in New York_ \- a film which laughed at the concept of the myth character finding out what he was turned to in popular culture- even if his ridiculous muscular look had nothing to do with Stiles, of course.

Then, when characters like Batman had suddenly developed majorly, to the point where a new series of films appeared out of nowhere -- _The Dark Knight_ trilogy -- which awed Stiles even further with how much his story of heroism fitted people like Derek, for example, much more.

But was it his exclusive story, to begin with, though?

“You know, I thought about it,” Stiles said as he moved his hand to rub Derek’s back in a circular motion, “and we both deserve to be called Heracles, after we both shined through Hera's punishments. My Mum made it up, but considering your side in the story, I think it’s more fitting as a couple-name for us than anything else.”

Derek hummed into Stiles’ chest. “Are you sure it’s not just because you found out what character DC made, inspired by you?”

Stiles grimaced. “Don’t _ever_ remind me that; and to think for a moment I was excited that I even changed the background of someone like fucking _Wonder Woman_ , even if it was only by making her being told to be born out of clay by Zeus specifically, instead of saying it was done by the gods in general. But point is, I think I’m good with being remembered as an over-large man just because it puts something of you in the way everyone imagines the ‘Heracles’ character as.”

Derek shifted his head so he could deliver Stiles a ridiculing look. “I think you watched one too many _swords and sandals_ films; the gods will never a Werewolf be implied in one of their myths, remember? Unless one day I’ll be picked up too by that woman who brought you to the Olympus. Have you ever found out who she was, by the way?”

“Uh, no, still no clue. But I've got a feeling I'll also never find out, not at least until some years from now, out of nowhere. That's at least how the universe seems to work.”

Derek dragged his head down again to kiss right between Stiles’ collarbones. “Time doesn’t matter, so long we’re together in this.”

Yes- it may take his entire lifetime to finally unfold any left mystery he was aware of and those that still not, and perhaps even that would not be enough; but Stiles did not care, because Derek was lying on top of him completely loose, melting his entire weight of him with not even the tiniest of strain in his body; he was so _comfortable_ by entrusting his body to Stiles at that point, even after what he had been through with his previous partner, but then again, the same kind of development had occurred in Stiles, too.

Again, it was not their behaviour which had changed, but the _source_ to it: Stiles was still his sarcastic self around Derek, yet, at more and more occasions, he was using it for simple arguments rather than defence mechanism; his insatiable need for challenges came out of the fun in it rather than seeking attention. And, in general, he was free to be as much of himself as he wished, as he as not shut down unless they were in a serious situation where it was necessary.

-

“I think I finally found it, Derek!” he tapped on his laptop quickly enough so Derek did not have enough time to ask him about it before Stiles clicked on the video he was searching for.

He sat next to Stiles on an office chair which matched the one Stiles sat on. It was the Sheriff's first gift for them, where Stiles was surprised to return home one day to two chairs instead of one after complaining for a long time on the backaches he had had because of the old one. The official explanation for it was that the Sheriff knew they had to do a lot of research together on Stiles' laptop, and thus there was no reason for Derek to always get a chair from downstairs; but it was clear to everyone that this was actually his way to show the two of them where he expected to find them was when he got into their room, although Stiles was ordered to leave his door always open anyway.

And the Sheriff was revealed to find them there just as he wanted, unaware of Derek having super senses and able to know whenever he is nearby. This was a part Derek had not told him while explaining about the supernatural world, and now both him and Stiles were very pleased to use to their advantage.

Derek’s brows furrowed at the screen. “Big Hero 6? That's the animated film you cried at, right?”

They had watched the film together at the monthly weekends Derek came to visit Stiles in his university. It was still crazy for him that he had a boyfriend who insisted on driving that length of destination every time so frequently no matter the weather and the repetitive time of the drive it took, but at least it took from his the patience to pretend he was doing Stiles a favour every time they went to watch an animated film.

“I didn't _cry_!” Stiles protested.  “I was emotional, yes, but I already told you that the scent of my sadness and the salt from the popcorn confused you. And please call it properly next time- there’s nothing childish in admitting you were watching a _Disney_ animation film, especially as we both know you’re the biggest sucker of it between the both of us. Ugh, dammit, why does it take so long for it to load?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Maybe because of all those opened tabs with other YouTube videos? Close some of then, it slows the computer down.”

Stiles faked an impressed gasp. “Look at you, talking about computers and internet and _tabs_ like you’re finally in sync with your generation! I'm so proud, I taught you right.”

“Shut up. Why do you want to show me this for, then?”

“Oh, yeah.” He jumped a little in his chair in an attempt to return him to focus. “It's the movie's official theme, but it’s not because of the film that I wanted to listen to it.”

Derek stared at him with a questioning look while Stiles bit his lower lip in an attempt to stretch the pause as much as possible, trying to make the announcement dramatic.

“I looked through every song I ever heard until I found this one, and I listened to the lyrics and- it’s _our_ song, Derek.”

“Our… Song?” Derek repeated, partly confused and concerned as well; the last time he gave him that look was when Stiles came with the idea of tattooing an area of moles on his middle, just out of spite.

Stiles still thought it could have been symbolic, especially with the idea he had of the scene from _One Piece_ of the swordfighter Zoro swearing that his strength would reach the heavens as a kid -- even adding a moon for him to sit under for full effect -- but this time, there _really_ was no reason to not take his seriously, with no danger of fainting involved.

“Yeah! You know, like the thing that symbolizes us the most, that when you hear it you cannot help but think about us? We're together for _two years_ , Derek, and we don't have anything to identify us with. The generations to come needs a proper thing to worship us with. We’re the story which inspired the monument that ancient Greek couple used to visit, after all!”

Derek's brows furrowed in a confusion that almost covered his insecurity if it was not cleared enough in his voice. “You feel like we need to identify us?”

“It's not that I feel _we have_ to do something, like… I mean, we don't really do romance the traditional way, which I'm really cool about. As long as you are too, obviously. So if you ever feel you want- though not just because _I_ want- not that I want it that much, but if you want that then of course I would -- ”

“ -- Stiles,” Derek stopped him, putting a hand on his thigh. “I’m good the way we are- but why are _you_ concerned about what society says about relationship should or should not have? I want to know if you feel something is missing.”

“No, it’s okay!” Stiles waved at his hands. “Nothing’s missing, ‘swear! Everything is abso-fucking-loutly as awesome as it could be! And I know you don’t care about stuff like that, like Werewolves don’t have an importance to identify with sexual preferences. But still, just give it a chance for a sec and I’m sure you get what I mean, okay?”

Derek’s scowl was still perplexed, but he nodded at Stiles, and Stiles gave him a winning smile before he clicked for the lyrics video for _Immortals_ by _Fall Out Boy_ to start.

Stiles stared at Derek, waiting for the relaxation to hit him- but his face stayed blank even as the second verse was over, and he groaned as he pressed for the video to stop.

“Dude, you were _reading_ the lines as you listened to this, right?”

“Yes, but what does it have to do with _Big Hero 6_ being about us?”

Stiles patted his forehead. “No, you don’t get it! It was composed as a theme for the film, but just as a background song, you know? The words have nothing to do with the film, or with what I’m trying to show you. Wait, you know what? My bad. I should have just shown you the lyrics themselves without it in the first place.”

“So, you think that song was based on the myth?” Derek asked him as he started to type in the search bar.

“I hope it wasn’t, because that’s what makes it so great- finally something I feel comfortable to identify myself with because the resemblance is _actually_ purely coincidental!” He looked again at Derek again as the page was opened. “Here, try reading this again, but this time try to read this as if they wrote it on us- not that I get how you couldn’t see it the first time like me, unless you are used to disconnecting everything you read those days from the truth? That’s somewhat cute, actually.”

Derek rolled his eyes again at him, but this time the attempt actually affected him as Stiles had wanted- and he even seemed close to impressed.

“Well?” Stiles smiled at him with anticipation.

“It definitely proves that you’re animated enough to inspire animation creations, or anything related to it,” Derek concluded.

Stiles snorted. “That’s coming from the incarnated version of Droopy.”

Derek gave him his Alpha gaze- although minus the red eyes. “Don’t call me Droopy.”

“Yeah, sorry for that. I always knew you prefer Sour-Wolf. Anyway, ready to hear the song properly now?”

Stiles did not wait for his response before he returned to the music video, at which point he got up, suddenly turning Derek’s chair of the 180 degrees and standing right in front of it while leaning on the armchairs.

“ _They say we are what we are; But we don’t have to be_ ,” Stiles began to sing, in a voice which was not completely out of tone but still was not enough for a serious singing.

But to Derek, who was initially a little more serious for his own good at any situation as usual, did not seem to mind any uncomfortableness it made to his sensitive ears anyway as he stared at him entirely bewildered- but was only met in return with excitement which was completely lacked of sympathy for his state.

“ _I’m bad behaviour but I do it in the best way_ ,” Stiles winked at him.

The other seemed to agree with that statement quite a bit, as no amusement at all was shown in his eyes about the whole situation.

But it was just what Stiles liked about him the most- there was _always_ a playfulness somewhere inside Derek, it was just a matter of knowing how to pull it out. As long as he would be able to keep respecting him as he deserved, he would master the ability to the point there would be no point for having it anymore as Derek would reveal more and more his personality behind his deadpan persona to the world.

All Stiles had to do, really, was to not give a shit about what everyone else thought or claimed -- unlike what Derek had originally thought it was about -- and keep staying patient and attentive.

“ _I’ll be the watcher, of the eternal flame; I’ll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams_.”

Stiles booped Derek’s nose in a quite unsubtle way regarding the hidden joke he delivered the line with, and even as Derek looked at him in a threatening manner again, all he met was Stiles’ amused sparkly eyes.

“ _Oooooooooooh_ ,” Stiles swung the chair from side to side, “ _I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass._ ”

He might be the one himself to be turned upside down soon, according to Derek’s just as vocal expression- but he kept on nevertheless.

“ _Oooooooooooh_ ,” this time Stiles left the chair in order to put his palms of both sides of his face and turn around himself slowly, to the music’s rhythm- before sharply returning to face Derek, putting a hand over his heart in order to emphasize his next delivery:

“ _I try to picture me without you but I can’t!_ ”

Just as Derek threw his head back, Stiles almost caught him unguarded as he tried to pulled him up to dance with him- but Derek used just enough of his strength to resist it; Stiles laughed too hard for trying to use his own immense strength against that, though, before he grabbed at the sides of Derek’s chair, and rocked it from side to side.

“ _Just not for long, for long: We could be_ _Immooooooo- Immortals_ ,” Stiles sang on as he did overpower Derek enough to spin him in his chair- each time to a different side as he kept repeating the line along with the song.

Just as the chorus was over, Derek leapt on Stiles out of the blue, and attached him to the bed with a just as flashy move.

Stiles cried out of laughter as Derek hummed the song between every kiss that he gave to his abdomen, and although this was not how Stiles had thought this situation would evolve- unlike other surprises in his life, this was something he did not mind to continue forever.

Because they could- no.

Their love _would be_ Immortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent the last four years writing, adding details to it/rewriting whole passages, editing without knowing how, expanding and rewriting even more and basically polishing the entire thing up just so I could know I did it; I left my mark in the biggest fandom I've been a part of so far by rearranging things the way they I know they should have been, not being able to stay quiet after finding so many posts of how fucked up the show was.
> 
> Because, no matter how much burnt out I feel by that point- this fanfic was just meant to be. 
> 
> Sorry for how it makes me sounds full of myself, but I don't say that because I think it's the best fic in the world; I still have a lot to improve when it comes to writing overall (leaving aside that not being a native English speaker makes it even harder) and in writing for Teen Wolf/Sterek specifically, and as much as writing this one helped me a lot to develop myself to the best I can be- I'm still not there.
> 
> So just to be clear, I'm not talking about the fic itself, as in how it turned out- but the _idea_.
> 
> It's just that, the more myth, facts, theories, essays, discussions and anything else I read which related to Heracles' lore- not only helped me connected Teen Wolf's world to the myth, but just made me see even more how much sense there was in this, in a way that this idea was more natural than any other AU I've ever read about them.
> 
> Again, it's not about how other writers brought their idea into existence through their fics (I'll be the first one to say that others have done much better justice with their idea than what I did with mine, with my current abilities) or about me being "more creative"- in fact, it doesn't seem to me like I was creative at all, because, while rewatching episodes over and over again as I was reading more of the different versions of the myth, it was just _so easy_ to find more details that I could use in order to connect and bring different occurrences from Heracles' myth into play in the modern-area Beacon Hills of this universe, while keeping it based on the one of the show, or just to make it more fitting and IC for Stiles' character. Sure, there were times I had to brainstorm a little (and times it ended up purely, like trying to make the fifth Labour logical and practical), but I still think I could improve all those moments if I had someone with a cleaner head suggesting something better for me with an outside POV, and so, no matter what, I consider this AU as not less than _perfect_ for Stiles.
> 
> That's the reason for all those recaps, because, no matter how self-centered it makes me, I have this mighty need to continue share with everyone more than this story, in hope that others will have a deeper understanding of how much the Greek mythology works so well with canon, whether it was intentional from JD or not (beside him admitting that Stiles was inspired by Perseus), and get excited as much as me about this. I mean, just the amount of plot holes and misjudgement that was done to a few characters that I could fix through stories from thousands of years ago is fucking amazing, and proves as well just how eternal they are, of course.
> 
> The big problem is, that, the ship which drove me to start all of this to begin with (before I understood just what I was signing myself up to) barely found its place inside this unending plot which kept devouring it, and while I was struggling with every moment of them together which I fought to include (along with ones I had to eventually give up on, as well as ones related to plot, and how crazy is that there was still parts of the myth I didn't have a way to include inside this 300k monstery thing?!), and that's something I'll always regret, and sometimes made me feel it's all a worthless effort because no one will be willing to wait so long to barely get something worth a slow burn of that size.
> 
> But that's why I'm thankful for everyone who did give it a try, and especially those who left kudos and comments- whether or not you managed to get all the way to the end without skipping any part, I just hope that at least what I mentioned above was interesting and satisfying enough to make you enjoy the story. 
> 
> It's been a long journey, both to me and Stiles, and it's just a fic and not even an original piece but fuck am I glad I was able to carry it through.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](http://heavensentgohansrage.tumblr.com/post/178288723286/recap-and-notes-heraclesstiles-ch-19)


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